The Green Dragon Inn - Part 9

[Will Witfoot]

Fungrim woke from his reverie and turned his gaze to the largest of the nightly skys stars. Eärendil he believed it was called, and he had heard elven stories of old that claimed it to be a magnificent jewel worn on the brow of the greatest mariner the world had known, a sea-man who now sailed the skies in a silver ship that was allowed to fly by the might of the Lords of the West. Looking up at it in a quiet night near the sea, he could all too easily believe the old legend. A most magnificent sight, certainly.

He stood up and realised that he must have sat there for hours now, and decided that he had wasted quite enough time on mopping. Feeling hunger gnaw at his belly he headed for the common room, hoping to catch a late dinner and perhaps some company. He should make the most out of his stay in the more habitated parts.

He sat down to a table that was close to the cozzy fire, glad of the comforting warmth. A couple of words and coins later a hobbit lass brought over a some venisson with potatos and butter and a pint of the inns fine ale. Thanking her with a smile, Fungrim dug in with a will.

Now if only he had some company, like that lively young fellow, Hamfast. He was the only patron in the inn that he was really on speaking terms with.