The first two paragraphs are rather unoriginal, as I'm sure you'll notice, but I have to set up the story a little. It gets Hama-ified later.
In the Prancing Pony inn in Bree, four hobbits were sitting, and drinking, not noticing the stare of the man in the corner. Or, I should say, three of them were, one did notice, and pointed it out to the hobbit next to him, as another hobbit went off to get another drink, having just discovered the existence of pints. "That man's done nothing but stare at you since we arrived," said the hobbit in a voice that clearly said he didn't like the look of the man. A worried expression came over the other hobbit's face as he glanced in the direction of the dark figure.
At that moment, the innkeeper passed by the table where the hobbits were sitting.
"Excuse me," said the worried-looking hobbit, to get his attention. The innkeeper paused, waiting for the hobbit to say what he wanted. "That man in the corner...Who is he?"
The innkeeper frowned. "He's one of those 'Eorlingas.' Dangerous folk, they are. What his right name is, I've never heard, but around here he's known as Walker."
"Walker..." muttered the worried-looking hobbit.
"Well I don't like the look of him, Mr. Frodo," said the hobbit who had noticed him, after the innkeeper had gone. He grabbed a fork, and threw it, hard, in the direction of the mysterious figure in the corner.
"Urk!" was the only sound Hama made, as his career as a ranger came to an abrupt end.
<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:30 PM January 03, 2004: Message edited by: Elennar Starfire ]
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