The moon was almost in the western trees as a dark shape staggered toward the warmth and sounds of loud talking coming from a very inviting-looking Inn, even by Hobbit-standards. Though, the staggering shape could hardly appreciate such creature or social comforts at the moment. Had he known he were in the shire, and very near the stable-door of the Green Dragon Inn, he might have mustered the presence of mind and strength of body to request a room. But at the moment, were one able to query him as to what an inn was, let alone what a Shire was, he would have been exceedingly lucky to even hear the question. Half blind from what he should be hoping was a passing affliction, and half blind from fatigue, he was in sad shape.
No one bothered him, indeed, no one saw him, for between the darkness and his mud-streaked garments, he was all but invisible, nevermind the staggering. As it happened, he found a pile of what might have been weeds cut from the garden, or what might have been hay, but what felt like a feather bed, if indeed he felt anything after tipping over and finding the ground was softer than he thought. The final thoughts ofhis unconscious mind were that tomorrow when he woke up, indeed, even next week if he woke then, there would be time enough to sort out the many questions and blanks in his mind.
But now to sleeeee....Zzz.
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