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Hob sipped the warm cider. Combined with the heat from the fire he was feeling quite toasty. Breakfast had been quite satisfying; the eggs and potatoes and toast running with honey had filled up every hollow. He sat back satisfied in his chair and pulled out his worn leather pouch of pipeweed. ‘One pipe-full,’ he promised himself, ‘just time enough to let everything settle in nicely, then old Strawberry and I will be off to make our rounds.’
Near him, enjoying their own platters of the Shire’s morning offerings, Benat and Anyopâ sat enjoying each other’s company. The room was not that noisy, many were still abed, and he could not help but hear their little discussion. He puffed quietly on his stained clay pipe, wondering where their thoughts would take them next.
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Young she was and yet not so. The braids of her dark hair were touched by no frost, her white arms and clear face were flawless and smooth, and the light of stars was in her bright eyes, grey as a cloudless night . . .
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