[Envinyatar]

‘I’ll just see if Cook can spare us some!’ Derufin hurried out the front door of the groundskeeper’s cottage and across the yard to the Inn’s kitchen entrance. Zimzi was wanting to bleach the muslin curtains the generous ladies of the Shire had made for the windows to her new house. Wood ash she had and water for making lye, but a bit of soured mild would soften the mixture.

‘Hurry! I’ll want to dry them in full sun, and it’s just now peeking out amid the blue patches.’ Zimzi had sent him on with a bright smile. He had paused to look back at her for a moment; her sleeves rolled up above her elbows, one strand of dark hair from the neat bun at the nape of her neck lying limply down the side of her cheek as she stood over the kettle and stirred the concoction. She smiled his way again and motioned him on with a flick of her chin.

‘Hmmm,’ he murmured to himself, seeing the logs along the edge of the property. ‘Now there’s something the lazy groundskeeper should be seeing to,’ he chuckled to himself.’ He laughed aloud. ‘Oh, wait . . . that’s me!’ He was in a fine mood. Marriage sat well on him.

At the hawthorn tree Zimzi had wondered at earlier in the day, he paused, careful not to step on the flowers that crowded near its trunk. ‘Well, good to see you’re still here,’ he threw out as a greeting. The leaves seemed to rustle softly in the breezeless air. Derufin gave the tree a grin and a slight bow, then hurried on.