A jaunty hobbit came through the front door dressed in shirrif's garb. He was just out of his tweens. He sat at the bar and greeted Aman merrily, identifying himself as Falco Bobbin. She asked what he'd have and he answered, and she placed a frothy mug before him. He drank deep and set down the mug, letting out a happy sigh.
"Shirriffing's thirsty work, you know. O'course I knew The Green Dragon Inn was at the end of my trip from Michel Delving. And I'll tell you, it kept my spirits up, it did!" He grinned, his eyes twinkling.
"You're welcome here any time, Falco Bobbin." Aman had warmed to him already. Friendlier than most hobbits, she thought, and that's saying something! "I hear tell you have news, but I'd not rush you. Take your time!"
"Oh, aye. I'll just swallow me another drag o' this here brew (I've had no better mind you), an' you and any others who wants to can hear what I knows." He lifted his mug again and his face was refracted through the opaqueness of the clear mug and golden ale. Setting down his mug again he said, "Gather around who you might and I'll tell my story."
Aman spread the word and soon a little crowd surrounded the hobbit, among whom were two pair of hobbit-lass eyes fluttering prettily. Falco never gave on that he noticed, nor that he didn't. Leastways, he launched into his tale, and this was what his hearers learned.
A wanderer skirting the north of the Shire from east to west, came upon a satchel surrounded by hoof prints, foot prints, broken brambles, scuffed grass, and other signs that a fair number of folk had been there. It was enough for the traveler to make a guess that there had been a scuffle, there being dried blood on a stone. More than that was hard to say. Where it was, was about twenty mile north by west of Michel Delving.
"Up toward Lake Nenuiel?" One voice broached.
"So I've heard tell," Falco answered, "but there's no saying the footprints leading away went toward that Lake. Leastways, not according to our wanderer. You can ask what you like of him as he'll be here hisself on the morrow. There! That's an end to what I know. Tellin' my tale has made me hungry!"
"What was in the satchel, Falco?" That was Derufin.
"Nary but a harp, but broke like it'd been throwed away. Can't say as I'd toss mine own harp like that, if you take my meaning."
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