[Kransha]

Oddly enough, Toby suddenly felt belated. Drowning in the irksome angst of his surroundings, hearing what sounded like an echo of his barely audible tune was at first startling. The hobbit realized that someone else was singing, but had transferred the key of the song to a more jaunted, brisk verse. The middle-aged Hafling wasn’t entirely sure whether this other, jocund fellow knew the Southfarthing song, or had simply picked it up from him. The way he went through the piece, jovial and brimming with a frothy confidence, but obviously stumbling over some of it, indicated the latter. He turned his head swiftly, snapping to one side and sending his hair flying as he caught sight of the new arrivals, who had taken up temporary residence by the dancing flames of the fireplace, bathing themselves and their drinks in its constant light.

Amazingly, Toby Hornblower actually felt the unaccustomed twinge of a grin creasing over his wizened features and a chuckle rumbling deep in his broad throat. Then, to his own great shock and muddled horror, he laughed aloud, watching as the bubbling foam in his ale tankard bubbled and shrunk from the sound of his voice, apparently protesting at the laughing Halfling. He pulled himself up on the rickety stool, almost tipping it and his ready mug, and hopped off onto the furnished floor, feeling strangely renewed. Sitting at the origin point of the festive verse was a quartet of Halflings, two looking exactly alike each other, save for their gaits and standings. One of the two identical hobbits seemed swollen to the point of explosion, while the other looked reserved, quieted by something. The other two were different, one more stern and well-postured were he sat, the final one similarly meek, but fervent in youth. The youngest bore a mild resemblance to Toby’s elder cousin, the thought of whom made Toby melt back into faded reminicense. But, he overlooked his mournful memories and jogged his way over to the hobbits resolutely. He was extraordinarily eager to see a good, plain group of simple Shire hobbits. He no longer had anything against foreigners, but he hadn’t seen the calming visage of a genuine Halfling before unseen in too long. The Dragon may have had its share of little folk, but elves, men, dwarves, and every sort of creature upon Arda save hobbits seemed to be slowly populating the place on Bywater Road, in this little region pockmarking Eriador.

Hurrying along through the murk of the crowd, gentle light that glowed luminously in the hearth flickered as soothed shadows danced over Toby’s face and eyelids. He proceeded at last to them, noting duly that they barely noticed him at first, or at least most did not. One looked up, his face almost slated with an expression of fear, which managed to amuse Toby. The hobbit began to leap up, looking apologetic for some reason that had escaped Tobias, but the Longbottom hobbit cut him off, gaining the attention of all four with his more typical, grandiose manner of speaking.

“Excuse me, good sirs. I couldn’t help but here your merry tune, and wanted to say that it was indeed a rousing verse. It’s been quite a time when hobbits have sung a song in this inn and yours most certainly did justice to the old tune. Well met, my friends.” Extending his gruff, dirt-clothed hand, Toby tried to widen his weak excuse for a smile. The one who’d been singing let his own hobbit hand shoot out and shook Toby’s with vigorous resolve, who was forced to yank his hand from the Halfling to extract it from his tight and energetic grip. He didn’t pull back, though, as he would’ve under most other existing circumstances. He gave the hobbit a swift and obligatory nod before turning to the others. “Tobias Hornblower the Third of the Southfarthing, Keeper of the best Pipeweed in all the Shire, at your service.”