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"As a matter of fact," said Brown cautiously, "It's not my decision. You'll want to talk to Bunny, who I suppose is more or less in charge right now - at any rate, this whole thing was her idea."
Brown wasn't sure what to make of this curious fellow, who looked as if he was asking to have his leg amputated: pale as a sheet and sweating bullets, he could hardly put two words together without sounding pained, much less even look Brown in the eye. Brown lost all idea of the hobbit being a rascal out to rob them or such mischief; he was far too...awkward. And frightened. That much was obvious.
"I may as well tell you," Brown continued in a concerned tone, trying to be forthright without sounding stuck-up, "That I know the North Moors as well as any hobbit who hasn't lived there. I'm - I'm not certain that we need any help finding our way..."
The hobbit's shoulders drooped visibly. Why did we want to come with them so badly? And why was he so afraid to ask? Brown was at a loss and he didn't want to be responsible for this.
"Why don't you go talk to Bunny? I think she's outside."
Brown pointed the hobbit toward the door.
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