[piosenniel]

Buttercup was disgruntled that Falco had left without a word to her, though it helped a little that he had not said farewell to Ruby, either. Perhaps when old Mr. Bushytop returned from Laureli’s wedding with a slice of cake for her, she would have sweet dreams with Falco as the principal figure in them. Her thoughts drifted of down these pleasant avenues when she heard the voice of someone speaking to her.

She blinked her eyes a bit to drive away the conjured visions and looked up at one of the Big Folk, looming over her. ‘What a tired face, he has,’ she thought to herself. ‘Must have come a long hard way to the Inn.’ Her eyes took in his thin leather breastplate and the sword that hung in scabbard at his belt. ‘A warrior . . . like Derufin,’ she murmured, recalling something the Stable-master had once said to her when she asked him what he had done before coming to the Green Dragon. ‘I was a warrior, little Mistress,’ he had said, a faraway look in his eyes, ‘with no enemies now to battle save my memories.’

He introduced himself as Caligon, and inquired after a room for the night, saying he was new in the Shire. She had him sign the Guestbook, and took his three copper pennies. ‘Follow me, if you will, good sir,’ she said, taking a key from behind the counter. ‘Just up the stairs here are the Big Folk rooms. I have one that faces east or one that faces west – which do you prefer?’