[Arry]

Alwin smoked his last pipeful as he sat near the banked fire in the Inn. Many of the guests had gone up to bed already, and he was looking forward to sinking under the quilts of his own bed in due time. Buttercup had come round with the broom, saying nothing to him as he sat, chair tipped back a bit and his feet on the raised hearth. But the determined sweeping of the young hobbit made comments of its own as the strokes came nearer and nearer his chair.

‘All right, my dear,’ he chuckled as the swish of the broom against the wooden planks of the common room grew louder and closer. ‘I’m surrendering this most comfortable seat to your able housekeeping and going off to bed.’ Buttercup smiled widely at him, mouthing a thank-you at the elderly gentleman.

‘Just one thing,’ he said, ‘drawing near and whispering to her. ‘Do you think I might get a small basket of food and a flask of hot tea with honey?’ Buttercup’s eyes went wide, wondering where the old fellow was going to put away a basket of food. ‘None of your business, Buttercup,’ she said to herself, as she went to fetch him the small repast.

Once delivered, he thanked her, then watched as she walked back to the kitchen to finish up in there. Alwin slipped out the front door of the Inn and hurried toward the oak tree. He rapped lightly on the trunk of the old tree and spoke softly into the dark, thick canopy of leaves above. ‘Something to hold off the cold of the night, my friend,’ he said, sitting the basket securely between two roots at the base of the tree.

Not waiting for an answer, he turned back toward the Inn, thoughts of a warm, soft bed drawing him on.