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‘Perhaps I should go and clean up, also,’ Anyopâ commented, watching as the Hobbit disappeared from view. ‘Although,’ he went on, lifting his head to where the faint breeze ruffled his hair, ‘it feels nice just sitting out here.’
He grinned at Derufin. ‘What say we get a pitcher of ale and sit there beneath the oak tree by the stable.’ He picked up his vest from the ground beside him and fished through the pocket. I’ve got my pouch of pipeweed here. We can sit and talk and smoke and relax.’
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But Huan the hound was true of heart, and the love of Lúthien had fallen upon him in the first hour of their meeting; and he grieved at her captivity . . .
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