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During the dwarf's speech, Rory observed him with interest. The bearded customer kept making funny movements, sometimes the hobbit was even afraid that he is going to break something. Not that the tale about the wolves would make the carter excited: if anything, it sounded dangerous. But still it was something new, something interesting enough to mention to casual travelmates. At least it was better than the nonsenses the dwarf was saying about the elves. At first, Rory was afraid that he starts to recount some dull events that happened in some far-away land. Fortunately, he chose not to. The wolves on the edge of the Old Forest were surely a far more exciting topic.
Quite unsettling, too, however. The carter scratched his back. He was not that stupid: his father recounted him about the Fell Winter when the wolves entered the Shire, three years before Rory was born. Rory's father and his uncle Sigismond were among the young hobbits who helped Mr. Puddifoot and Mr. Maggot to drive the wolves off the frozen fields of the Marish. And it was around that time when uncle Sigismond died... Rory shuddered. The journey towards the eastern borders of the Shire did not seem as pleasant as before. Who knows what can happen? The dwarves surely have a tendency to exaggerate, but still, if there are wolves... Rory never saw a wolf, except for a moth-destroyed tail that belonged to his mother; a trophy from his father's one and only adventure. But could it be possible that a wolf would slip into the Shire, right in front of the watchful hobbit guards of the Hay Gate? No, that was not probable. Maybe the outside lands were getting a little bit more dangerous now, but the Shire was perfectly safe. As always.
Rorimac placed the empty mug away on the table. With disgust, he looked at the dwarf's revealed scar. Nevertheless, he thought, I would not like to stay outside at night. If possible, he would rather spend the night under cover of his cousins' house in Bucklebury. And the sooner he returns home to Poppy, the better.
"You should put some way-bread on that," he advised matter-of-factly to the dwarf, pointing at the scar. "Old widow Brownlock does that and it helps. My Buttercup once cut his leg on some sharp stone, and she helped us; she poured some water with the way-bread on it and it ceased to bleed. And later, my Buttercup could walk without any problems and it disappeared after a few days, really."
He picked up the empty mug. "It was pleasant to talk to you, Mister Dwarf, but I really have to go now. Hopefully Buttercup did not make a mess in front of the inn. He's capable to do that, you know. Once, during our stay at Mr. Madoc Hornblower, he ate whole patch of cabbage and broke a hoe that was lying there. Don't ask me how he did that. Well, of course he did not eat all the cabbage... he only started every head and then threw it away. But he had calmed down since then, you see. After that he did it only... once. But since I peppered his tongue after he did that, I believe he's not going to try that again. Still, who knows what might be going on in his head, eh? Well, have a nice day, sir, and... goodbye."
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