Peony sighed, “Yes, I’m fine. I think I’m just hungry.” It was a hobbit’s usual excuse. She played it out by patting her stomach and looking around the camp as if she was in her pantry looking for a cake she had saved. Anson nodded. Peony in truth wasn’t scratched a bit, much to her delight and surprise. But her brain still rushed with the agrenilin she had worked up in the fight. In an attempt to calm it down she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, she guessed she had reduced her pulse to half of what it was.
“You?” she asked peering at the older hobbit. He brushed off his sleeves and shook his head standing.
“No, I’m fine. You said you were hungry?” Peony shrugged.
“A bite wouldn’t hurt me none.” Peony fingered the pocket on her dress and walked over to where she had laid her pack. From within she withdrew an apple and sat down beside Anson who had lit his pipe. As Andunériel finished with the patients, they slowly began to settle down.
Peony glanced inconspicuously around at the other warriors. Coincidently, every one was silent, and staring into the fire. She desperately wanted someone to say something, a story, a plan, a comment, anything to break the unbearable silence.
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"They call this war a cloud over the land. But they made the weather and then they stand in the rain and say, 'Sh*t, it's raining!'" -- Ruby, Cold Mountain
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