Cook and Buttercup rushed past the other customers in the Inn. So engrossed were the others in their conversations and their food and drink that they had not noticed the plight of the poor downed traveler who lay in a heap near the door.
‘She’s breathing,’ said Cook, much relieved. She popped open the top to the smelling salts and waved them underneath the woman’s nose, while Buttercup chafed her wrists. Soon a soft moan emanated from the fallen figure, and her eyes fluttered open.
‘Make way!’ shouted the two Hobbits, as they assisted the woman to her feet and settled her quickly in a chair. Cook wrapped a warm quilt round her shoulders, and sent Buttercup to fetch her a mug of hot tea. Sipping the warm liquid revived her somewhat, and she managed to splutter a thank-you to her two rescuers.
‘Don’t think a thing of it, Miss,’ said Cook gently, patting her hand. She looked kindly at the young woman. ‘Now tell us who you are, Miss. And what’s brought you to such a state, if you will . . .’
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.
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