[Koobdooga]

Ibun chuckled at the girl’s words. “Having a chin-wag” was what his grandmother called it when his grandpa and his friends would sit about and talk and drink. ‘No offense taken, Miss Woolcomb!’ Grinning, he looked toward Frór. ‘We’re certainly guilty of what you’ve described. And if we brought good thoughts to mind of your family, then all the better!’

His pipe had gone out, and he tapped it on the railing of the porch, letting the ashes fall into the flowerbed below. ‘Well, best you get on about your business and not let us hold you up. Perhaps we’ll see you at the party this evening. We’ll stand you to a cup of cider or of ale.’ He smiled and nodded at her. ‘Oh, here I go forgetting my manners. I’m Ibun Lodestone come from the Misty Mountains as you call them here, I think. And this is my friend, Frór, from the Iron Hills.’