She was a sight for sore eyes. Still beautiful in her own way. And after all this time, the years had left no marks of their passage on her face. His own face, he knew, looked older. No more the boyish visage of the very young man when first he’d passed through the Shire those many years ago. She’d been Innkeeper then at The Dragon, taking care of the many visitors that at that time passed down the East Road.
He wondered that she had remembered him and more that she smiled at him now as if no time had passed since last they’d met.
A small voice niggled at the back of his mind. “Stars and stones, man! Pull yourself together. Quit gawping! That’s your old friend, you ninny!” He rubbed his sweaty palms against the rough cloth of his breeches.
“It’s me, Miz Pio,” he managed to stammer out. “It’s Arry.”
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If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world – J.R.R. Tolkien
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