Gwyn ap Nudd

‘Now just how did he manage that?’ Barnaby Stonecrop looked up from his lunch and watched the trio of women make their way toward the diminutive Hobbit and his two companions. ‘Some fellows just have all the luck!’

The older woman, he thought he knew, at least by sight if not by introduction. Mistress Greengage . . . Violet Greengage. Lives somewhere up near The Pool, as he recalled. And the light haired lass, he thought might be her niece. She was easy to remember, with her blue eyes, fair hair, and friendly ways. It was her, he thought he’d watched dance near every dance at the last Summer Faire.

The other young woman he could not recall seeing before. Her short dark curls framed a pretty face set with dark eyes that seemed to take in her surroundings in a reserved manner. He watched the two of them for a while, with sly glances toward their table.

Taking a hot bun from the basket before him, Barnaby slathered it generously with butter, followed by a thick layer of honey. He took a large bite and chewed on it thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if the two lasses will be at the party this evening,’ he thought to himself, stealing another look.