The bard took a seat as Hanasían smiled at his words.
'Regrets are only spent on that which could have been. If it was some back-barn Rohirric swill then yes it would have bene regrettable, but there be Hobbit-lore in the making of Snowbourne!'
Hanasían chuckled at the fact that an aquaintance of Meriadoc's from the Green Dragon, Hobs Burrowes, had come down to try his brewcraft with Shire hops grown in the highlands around Rohan. Old Eorly partnered with him, and Frea threw in some of his war pension as investment in the venture. Surely a halfling brewmaster would actually teach the old man how to brew a good beer, and last fall's harvest was the first of the Shire hops and he and Hobs worked through the winter to perfect their product.
Hanasían looked at Hearpwine and noted the fatigue on his face and went on,
' No ailment unlooked for grips me now, for it is sometimes hard to get the telling of the Fords out of some, being it was a losing battle. Yet it did buy time...'
Hanasían wondered if the celebrated bard wanted to hear of his old war stories, and so he turned the table back on him.
'You appear to be a victim of burning a short candle at both ends yourself eh.'
Hearpwine yawned while Hanasían spoke.
The door opened and Frea came in, looking fine on the summe rday. Does the brew not ever affect him? He saw Hanasían, but looked over the common room intently. Hanasían knew he was looking for Folca...
Meanwhile, behind the stables in some hay droppings, Folca lay snoozing the morning away.
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