[Envinyatar]

The man was angry and indignant, Derufin could see. But not just from the foolish antics of the two Hobbits. Though, he has every right to be thought Derufin, shaking his head in disapproval of Ferrin and Fallon’s handling of Pegram’s comments. Most of the man’s resentments seemed to focus on his sister. Derufin, having listened to him and watched his actions, did not feel her to be in physical danger. And she seemed capable enough, resolved enough, to take care of the verbal assaults herself.

‘Glad to have met a member of Jinniver’s family,’ Derufin said, rising from his chair and nodding courteously at both of them. ‘I’ll take my leave of you good folk, if I may.’ Both pairs of eyes were on him, and Jinniver nodded back. ‘I’ll see you, then, tomorrow, Jinniver. And I’ll have the lads rounded up to help you.’

He hurried to the kitchen, calling out for Cook. She and Ginger stood near the stove looking down at something – a cat. The feline had apparently finished eating and now rubbed itself against Cook’s ankles as she stirred the stew pot. He grinned seeing her smile of pleasure at a meal well appreciated. Derufin watched as the cat exited the kitchen, soft paws padding across the floor in a determined manner.

‘New mouser?’ he asked, sidling up to Cook and looking longingly at the rich concoction of chicken and taters and vegetables. Cook hmmmmphd in mock irritation and gave him a generous taste from the stirring spoon. He winked at Ginger who was just starting to slice up the bread in thick chunks for the baskets on the table. ‘I was just wondering,’ he began. ‘No, hoping, really, that you could see your way to filling a small crock with some of the stew and letting me have a loaf of bread to go with it.’

‘A whole crock?’ asked Cook, eyeing Derufin’s tall, lithe frame. She poked him in the side, cocking an eyebrow up at him. ‘You intend to eat this all yourself,’ she went on. ‘Wouldn’t want to see it go to waste.’ She fetched a small pot with a tight fitting lid and began ladling the stew into it. Ginger, at a nod from Cook, wrapped one of the crusty, whole loaves in a clean towel to go with it. Derufin had opened one of the cupboards and found the plates of cookies put away for dessert. ‘How about a few of these?’ he asked. ‘Best spice and raising cookies in the Shire,’ he added, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek as a large handful found its way onto a clean napkin for transport.

‘Now, none of that buttering me up,’ sputtered Cook, adding a small jar of strawberry jam into the lidded basket she had gotten out to put the pot, bread, and cookies in. ‘Mind you don’t get that bread wet if the rain starts up. Put it under your cloak.’ He gave her another peck on the opposite cheek and fairly ran out the back door.

‘Where’s he going off to,’ asked Ginger as Cook closed the door behind him. Cook shook her head, chuckling as she walked back to the table to help with the bread. ‘Gone off to see his lady love . . . Mistress Zimzi. Going to bribe old Amaranthas into letting him spend some time with her, I reckon. Lucky for him the old lady is quite fond of my chicken stew.’