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Arry's post:
So engrossed was she in the goings on in the yard that she did not hear his approach. Alwin stepped up beside the little figure and crouched down beside her. She startled and made to move away, but he laid his hand lightly on her arm. ‘We should help, Mistress Druedain.’ He nodded toward the Inn’s herb garden. ‘If you will gather them, I’ll see that those who need them will have the benefit.’
He thought she would bolt despite his words. But after a moment of consideration, dark brown eyes scanning his face, she drew up her hood and turned her gaze to the garden. In a brown blur she sped through the garden, her hands moving with a purpose among the plants. In a trice she had delivered them to him, and with a small nod withdrew. He stood, watching her form zig-zag through the smoke, moving from bush to tree, until the oak tree was at last reached.
His own path took him back to the road where an older Hobbit had set up a makeshift place to care for the injured and those overcome by nerves or the smoke. ‘Mistress,’ he said, drawing her attention and a mild glare as she turned from one of the singed Hobbits. ‘Here are some fresh herbs good for burns, and congestion, and overwrought nerves.’ He rolled up his sleeves and picked up a bucket of cool water and a fresh rag. ‘I have some small skill with healing. Let me help if I may.’
Alwin crouched down beside one of the wheezing Little Folk, his hands wiping the soot from eyes, nose, and mouth with the now wet rag. His voice was soothing, words almost inaudible as he drew the Hobbit to a sitting position. His strong fingers crushed a piece of root and leaf he had brought and popped it into the Hobbit’s mouth. Then, giving him a small dipperful of water and a few words of comfort, he moved on to the next one.
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