The Golden Perch Inn

[Envinyatar]

Jack ventured a smile at the Halfling as he sat down at the table. It was not an expression he practiced often, and so it may have appeared rather frightening . . . a rictus of the mouth, a gaping sort of grin, that may well have been seen as a grimace from another angle. It was a fleeting attempt which soon disappeared behind the rim of his ale mug.

‘Well, I do thank you for that!’ he said in a grateful sounding voice. ‘I swear I have had nothing to drink but what brackish water I could find along my way.’ He took another great gulp and set down the mug with a satisfied thump on the wooden table top.

The ale rumbled about in his empty belly . . . loud grumblings, in which his innards protested the lack of sustenance. ‘Guess I am a bit hungry at that! My old belly’s knocking against my backbone!’ he remarked, reaching for one of the biscuits on the platter. He piled the halves of it with jam and popped them in his mouth, one after the other. Another biscuit found its way into his hand and this one he clapped about a nice fat piece of ham.

Halfway through this makeshift sandwich he eyed his Hobbit companion. ‘Don’t let me eat your whole plateful. Dig in!’ He chewed thoughtfully on the rest of the ham biscuit. ‘Good food, here at the Perch. You always get fed like this?’ He pushed the plate a little closer to his companion.

‘Name’s Jack, by the way. Jack Greymoss. Used to live in Breeland, over across the river and such. Been traveling lately, though.’ He thought he’d best leave out the details so as not to scare his table mate off. ‘Working odd jobs and such for a place to sleep and hot meal.’

‘Wotcher name? I don’t think I caught it.’