|
‘Well, clap him hard on the back, Mistress Foxburr!’ came the amused voice of Emlin from behind Rowan’s back. He had stepped up so quietly, she had not heard him. And now, bent over slightly, he peered around her back.
She followed his direction and stepping near the distressed Hobbit, gave the still coughing Gil a good hard whack mid back. The air whoofed from him in a sudden exhalation, then came back in as he straightened up . . . without coughing.
His face was pale as he turned round to her. His cheeks flaming like a robin’s breast against the last snows of winter. A little ways aprt stood Emlin, looking closely at the pair, his brows raised.
__________________
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 . . .
|