[piosenniel]

Olo shook his head. ‘A fine piece of work he is...’ he thought to himself, then cut off the unproductive thought. It was hard not to dismiss the Elf when his manner was so stand-offish. Still the horse was his first concern, and the Elf had been less abrasive than usual. He squared his shoulders and strode off after him.

'Excuse me, Master Elf! I should like to give you this to use on his leg.’ Nardol looked up from where he sat, his face reflecting neither irritation nor invitation. Olo held out his hand with the small pot of unguent in it. 'Use this please, once a day after you wash away the crusted area. As I said, it should look quite a bit better in the next day or so. But please continue to care for it for at least two days after it looks healed. Appearances can be deceiving, when it comes to pain and festering. Wounds oft go deeper than we see them on the surface.’

Nardol looked the hobbit squarely in the face at this last remark, finding no hidden trace of pity or disgust evident – only the simple exchange of information from one horseman to another. His brow furrowed and he took the proffered unguent from the Hobbit’s hand. Another simple ‘Thank you’ followed by another awkward silence. Nardol stared down at the pot as if it were the most interesting item in the entire camp.

The Hobbit’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the Elf. ‘My word!’ he thought to himself. ‘He is much like that dappled warhorse those traders gave to my Da in exchange for one of our sturdy ponies. Ill used by those nasty orcs who captured his rider, his spirit was just as scarred, if not more so, than his flanks where they had beat him and cut him with their lashes. Starved, he was, as much for contact as for food. Wary, though, and mean if he felt threatened in the slightest way.’

‘Nardol . . . your name is it not?’ he said casually, drawing the Elf’s attention back to him. ‘Mine is Olo. Olo Gardener of Michel Delving.’ He waited for a moment to see if even this simple gesture would be spurned, then plunged on. ‘We’re setting up camp over there’. He motioned with his chin toward where Holly and Andreth were setting up a small site for themselves and their companions. Peri and Whinny grazed on the grasses along the path’s edge, and Poppy sat on a log near the fire pit, laying the shavings, tinder and wood for a cooking fire later that evening.

‘There’ll be plenty of food and sweet-spice tea, and a pipeful of Southern Star, if you’re so inclined, though I know that most Elves find the habit not to their liking. Come, if you will . . . when the sun’s a finger’s width above the western rim.’ He turned and walked away from the Elf, waving a fare well.

‘Oh,’ he called back over his shoulder as he walked toward his companions, ‘and don’t worry about Holly. I’ll see to it she doesn’t try to poison you . . .’

[ December 27, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]