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As soon as her supper was placed in front of her, Jinniver fell upon it greedily. She crammed a few chunks of the warm bread into her mouth and took a mouthful of the ale, spilling it onto her white scarf. She looked down at the new stain, annoyed with herself, and gulped down the food she had stuffed into her mouth so quickly. She coughed, straightened up, and began to approach her meal more delicately, remembering she was in company.
The ale was delicious, fruity with a strong scent of hops, and as good, if not better, than any she had ever tasted. She finished the drink before the meal, and looked over at the bar, wondering if she dared go up and buy another ale. She felt sure her father would not have approved; he had said so often that she ought not to go to The Prancing Pony in Bree alone, that she had convinced herself that he did not approve of her going into any inn alone.
The smell of the ale all around her was strong and yet again, that nagging little voice inside her, made more insistent by the addition of the beer, was goading her on. “It’s alright. Nobody knows you here. And besides, if those fine people can go and buy a drink then so can you”. She was worrying about leaving her table unattended, and now she had also convinced herself that the bar may close and she would be refused another drink, and then she would look stupid into the bargain. Laying down her fork for the moment, she stood up suddenly and in a rushing movement, went to the bar. She turned her head anxiously to check that the table was as it had been a few seconds before, and she almost stumbled into a weary looking hobbit who was waiting at the bar, and she felt her cheeks flush. “Oh, I am dreadfully sorry, sir” she said, then realising he might think she was drunk she turned to the bar herself, puffed her cheeks out and made a point of standing soberly, as upright and stiff as possible.
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