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‘There’s a bit of a stir outside,’ Tim said as he and the stablemaster finished their rounds and came towards the wide open doors of the stable. They stopped in the opening, blinking in the sunlight after the dimness of the barn, and looked out.
‘Why that’s Fordogrim Chub with his ale!’ Meriadoc cried. ‘Almost better than that at the Dragon! Let’s go see what’s up, Tim.’ Tim trailed behind the stablemaster as the hobbit limped, crutches and all, towards the group of people standing around the extraordinarily short Fordogrim and his table and ale casks.
Meriadoc pushed his way into the middle and there finding what the cause of all the merriment was, forgot all his troubles and joined in, getting himself a pint of the Gamwich Gold. Tim, on the other hand, remained on the outskirts of the all the people. He glanced around and caught sight of the two tired ponies, still harnessed to the cart. One stretched it’s neck and tugged at the reins, getting no where in the process - the driver had tied them to the seat. The other stood with his head down on the level of its knees, one back foot resting, and blinking wearily.
Tim sighed with pity and walked towards them. He laid his hand gently on the nearest pony's forelock and stroked him while he glanced around for someone to ask if he could do anything for them. He quickly caught sight of a hobbit leaning on the wheel, and with the way that he stood back so nonchalantly with no mug in his hand, and no cares on his face, he assumed he would probably be a good person to ask.
‘Excuse me,’ Tim said, approaching him. The hobbit (it was Gerdy Chub, though Tim didn’t know it) turned and looked at him. ‘Are these your ponies? Should I unharness them and take them to water?’
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