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Willow
Willow was quite enjoying her breakfast, as was usual for a hobbit, when a woman happened by. Willow didn't recongnize her, but that was normal, as there was always new people in the area, and old people, that she didn't know by sight.
"Mind if I sit here?" the new-comer asked, a touch of brightness to her voice, and cheer.
Willow set her spoon down for a moment. "Oh no, not at all," she replied. "I'll finish eating here, if you don't mind." She smiled, and added, "I haven't ate since mid-afternoon yesterday, friend."
Willow dove back into her food, but, as she had been eating with much vigor, there was little left, and it took her a few minutes to clear her plate. She set the spoon, and knife over the plate, and pushed it aside, across the slightly stained wooden table. Just last night, Willow reflected, I was standing up on one of these tables, fiddling... with friends. She smiled faintly at the memory. "And who are you, and whereabouts are you from, friend?" she asked cheerfully. Her hunger was quenched, and no longer did it drive her to distraction. "I am Willow Overhill, of the North Moors," she added, in way of an introduction.
The sun peeked in through the windows as the day grew slightly later, and the tables were sunkissed with the brilliant light. The day would be fair indeed.
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