******The Shire******
Unsurprisingly, Orlo felt grumpy. He had had muffins again for breakfast, whilst Hardo had had bacon. Bacon. The injustice.
Orlo eyed the Old Forest warily. He had no desire whatsoever to go in there as Master Merry's tales of being trapped in a willow tree had given him nightmares for three weeks and a fear of willow trees for life. He fervently hoped that the younger hobbits had no interest in the Forest either. He gave what he thought was a stern look to Brando, who seemed even more lively than usual, despite the meagre meal of muffins.
He glanced at Hardo. The elderly hobbit seemed lost in thought.
"Sir?" Orlo prompted. "When are we supposed to arrive in Bree? Aren't we travelling...a little slowly?"
The instant the words were out of his mouth, he deeply regretted it. He reprimanded himself; the memory of the aching stiffness of the night before returned sharply and he groaned inwardly. Hardo would probably go at a pace to rival the energy of ten Brandos put together.
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