[Rose]

Well, here she was . . . caught out! Rose pushed down the urge to simply turn and flee. Taking a deep breath she faced toward the Dwarf who had addressed her.

‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ she began, her cheeks now thoroughly reddened. ‘My name is Rose. Rose Woolcomb of Bindbale Wood.’ She stepped nearer the two Dwarves. It was rude of me, I know to stare at you, but I saw you talking to one another . . . your beards wagging up and down as you did so. And it was such a familiar sight to me, or so it seemed, that I could not help but stare and wonder at it.’

Rose took a deep breath. ‘Oh dear, I’m not explaining myself very well. You see, my two grandfathers live with my family. And often at the end of a long day, they like to sit in front of the door to our burrow, in their sturdy wooden chairs, feet propped up on an overturned bucket or low oak round. They fill their pipes and smoke and drink their mugs of hard cider and talk til my mother calls them in for supper. Their beards, though, not as full and fine as yours, wag up and down in the same manner.’ She looked down at her feet, wondering if she had blathered on too much. ‘I’ve not been away from them often. I was missing them, I suppose. and seeing you two engaged in a familiar activity made me smile and think of them.’