Bethberry was pleased, really, really pleased in a deep-down contented way, that all the Tharbad travellers were finally sharing and enjoying a convivial dinner together. Well, all but Birdie, whose soft snores provided a kind of gentle background rhythm to the dinner. Perhaps there would be a piece of pie left over for her for first breakfast tomorrow morning.
It was, as well, healthy to see that the haunted, worrisome look on Naaramare's face was diminishing a bit, almost like a palimsestet, as a small glow of fellowship began to shine on her face. She obviously was relaxing a little.
Not quite so pleasant was the look on Gandalf's face as he was crowded by Podo Cotton and plied with all manner of thoughtless questions. Bethberry herself was quite relieved that her mouth was full of sumptuous bumbleberry pie and cheddar cheese, for she was conveniently inconvenienced in not being able to reply to all of the hobbit's questioning. She resorted to nodding and tilting her head, raising her eyebrows, mummering occasionally, in order not to appear thoroughly uncivil to the hobbit.
It would appear that nothing much was to be learnt about the road from this hobbit, whose attention was so thoroughly directed to things superficial.
[ July 20, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]
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I’ll sing his roots off. I’ll sing a wind up and blow leaf and branch away.
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