Talking to Larien
‘Larien. That’s a lovely name. I’ve not heard it before.’ Ginger poured a small mug of cider for herself and sat down. ‘My name’s Ginger Gamwich. From Hobbiton, not too far across the road. Mostly I work in the kitchen, helping Cook. But right now everything’s ready for supper, so I’ve got a break for a while. You don’t mind if I sit with you, do you?’
One of the other servers, Buttercup, came by and left a plate of little plum tarts for the two lasses. Ginger took one and passed the plate to Larien. ‘You planning on staying for a little while,’ Ginger asked as she munched on the sweet. ‘There’s going to be the Spring Faire in less than a week. Right here at the Inn. Or are you just passing through?’
Gosh, Ginger Gamwich you needn’t be so nosy right off! She sighed and took a sip of her cider, hoping she hadn’t sounded too nosy.
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. . . for they love peace and quiet and good tilled earth . . . are quick of hearing and sharpeyed, and though they are inclined to be fat and do not hurry unneccesarily, they are nonetheless nimble and deft in their movements . . . FOTR - Prologue
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