[Kransha]

Foul, equestrian smells and vaguely familiar stable sounds bombarded Toby Hornblower’s senses. His eyes, despite their violent protests, were pried open by a flood of broken light, seeping through a wooden, thatched roof above him. Blinking without end, Toby looked up into a mask of hay and debris which clung to his hair, clothes, and face. Instinctively, he pulled his sleeved arm to his face and used the still-numb limb as a cloth. Clawing with stubbly fingernails at the particles of sand in his eyes, Toby slid down the length of the hay mound he had slept upon, and into a conveniently placed globular pile of horse fodder. A surge of his characteristic pride swelling in him, Toby reared up indignantly, snorting under his breath, and shot to his feet. In a brief, arrogant moment, he forgot where he was, why he was, and when he was. All that remained with him was who he was, and that gave him solace. He was Tobias Hornblower the Third, the wealthiest Halfling in all of Eriador…and then reality struck him, in the form of an equally convenient support beam behind him. As he jumped up, the back of his head collided with the edge of the rectangular beam. The real world coruscating all around him suddenly, Toby fell forward, collapsing onto his knees in the hay. He remembered everything he’d wished to forget, all his troubles, and the unhappy circumstance that had brought him to the Green Dragon Inn so late last night.

He again wished to blame something, or someone else for his woes, but the delusions were useless. He thought back, painfully, to his reasons and his activities. He willed himself not to think of the bad and rather emphasize the positive facts, but that attempt also failed. The blow to Toby, dealt less than a week ago, had changed him. It had fallen, like a hammer on a blade of grass, back in his estate in Longbottom. Truly, it was the Hornblower estate, but it had been legally inherited by Toby. That was where the hobbit had fled from, leaving behind his riches, his family, and his life. He’d lost all his earthly goods, save the clothes on his back, and the respect of his peers. Most people had respected Toby, regardless of his reputation, bad or good. The only person who really did not was, in fact, his own sister, Opal Hornblower Boffin. But, despite her, everyone else at least revered his prosperity. That was why the blow was so thunderous when it fell. The worst thing was that he could not anticipate the blow. He had to be told of his own discovery. If he had really been a villain, he would’ve been long gone before this occurred, but alas, he was no real villain, nor was he a real doer of good. He was villainous when he did good and righteous when he did ill. He was a half-rate fellow and a half-rate fiend, of all the humiliations.

Of all the people who had to tell him, it had to be her. She despised Toby, though not openly enough for others to notice. The hatred had oft been equated to simple sibling rivalry, but Toby and Opal knew that it was genuine, unmitigated rivalry. Genetics had nothing to do with the matter. Toby had sidled his way into becoming the richest, most prosperous of all the Hornblower brood, and Opal had never let him live it down, possibly because she had an inkling of his dishonest ways. She certainly had known nothing of his kleptomania, but she always tried to find the most gossipy, overwrought falsehoods about him. The two of them were ever at odds, though Toby was always more jocund about their arguments. On that day, though, that she had approached him with the news, he’d been far from jocund. The smirk on her face actually hurt. Toby knew that he and his sister were never close, but seeing her take pleasure in an event that might result in Toby’s expulsion, ostracism, or worse, made him realize that she really, truly, hated him, and that was another burden that he didn’t need. She’d made the blow all the more painful by parading in with the news just when Toby was with his nephews and nieces. They were the folk he most treasured, as they cared not of his faults, and only yearned to hear his tales. Their innocence was something that granted him peace, and Opal stole both away. Toby hadn’t fled that instant, such action would have been most impolitic, but he did depart less than an hour after he was confronted.

Opal had informed him, with the greatest of subtlety, that his crimes had been discovered, and that he was to be punished duly and swiftly. At first, Toby had thought she meant his various thieveries and attempts at petty larceny. Such things were not looked highly upon, but not considered wholly evil. When she told him what crimes had been discovered, he realized what serious trouble he was in. He had known, then and there, that there was naught left to do, and left. Now, he was here. Last night, he’d narrowly avoided falling into conversation with anyone, even Snaveling. He evaded all questions and queries from the man, though Aman had lacked her curiosity, conspicuously. She seemed to almost understand that he was not suited, at the moment, to answering her questions. Soon after Aman had approached the table he’d been recruited to, the whole inn suddenly emptied, leaving only those die-hards who did not sleep. Politely excusing himself, Snaveling had escorted Toby Hornblower to his nightly home, and, bidding Aman and Jinniver a fond farewell (at least Snaveling had), all had retired, succumbing to simple, needed slumber, a fact for which Toby was immensely grateful. It had been a rough day, and a rougher night, but that was over now.

His long sojourn from reality was disrupted by playful clip-clopping in the stall next to his, and the sound of footfalls. He heard Snaveling’s voice, gentler and milder than ever it had been before. It was soon accompanied by a second source of steady breathing, soon transformed into a voice – that of Amanduial. Toby instantly became filled with consternation and sat bolt upright, his back straightening against the wall of his makeshift bedroom, the horse’s stall. His eyes widened, but then relaxed as he heard the two instead walk into the stall beside his, where that clip-clopping sound proliferated. His ear quivering intently, Toby turned his head toward the source of the conversation and sat back, listening as Snaveling’s next story unfolded.

He listened intently as they spoke. Despite the miscellaneous sounds of the stable, mornings in Bywater were relatively quiet, and Toby picked up every aspect of the conversation. They were talking about the horse, no doubt, the fine animal that Snaveling had brought to the Inn. Snaveling had had a fleeting opportunity to show the steed to Toby the night before, and now he was exhibiting it to Aman, but his air was far different with her. The two of them were so friendly, not as Snaveling and Toby were. Their companionship distinctly reminded Toby of Snaveling and Roa, when they’d first been united. After the events leading up to the Green Dragon’s re-opening festivities, Aman and Snaveling had become close friends as well, sharing that sort of glance that makes one who does not understand the nature of said glance understand. The relationship became closer each time the two were in contact…But, perhaps Toby’s mind was elaborating. After all, he’d been drunk on ale at the time of his last observance. Remembrances of that merry night brought a smile to Toby’s face, but it quickly faded, replaced by a distinguished frown. Shaking off the memory, Toby staggered to his feet as noiselessly as he could and, still keeping his head beneath the top of the stall, moved sideways, edging toward a small peephole in the wood. His curiosity, despite his predicament, remained insatiable. He continued to listen, as the conversation took a most intriguing turn…