[Noinkling]

Talk rose and fell in the common room, the rhythm of it comforting him as he leaned forward toward the fireplace, warming his chilled hands. Tolly was from a large family and suppers were much like this at the big burrow in Greenholm – the sharp voices arguing their points blended with others at the table chuckling over some small jest. And still others, talking in low persistent whisperings of their problems. Beneath it all the sounds of mugs meeting the wooden table top as they were set down and the clatter of spoons against their sides as honey was stirred into the tea. Soon he knew, there would be the clack and scrape of cutlery against plates and bowls when the food arrived. And the satisfied noises of those enjoying their meal.

‘And what a meal that will be,’ he thought, sniffing the air appreciatively.

Something savory assailed his nose as did the hearty scent of fresh baking. His stomach growled as one of the lasses set down a basket of bread at his table along with a crock of butter and a small pot of blackberry jam. It was all he could do not to pounce on it. But, remembering his manners, he grinned at the server as he sat back in his chair, waiting for the main course to arrive.