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‘Who up, there, Taffy! I believe we’ll be turning in here.’ There was hardly a need for Barnaby Stonecrop to urge his little dun colored mule to slow down. Taffy ambled in a decidedly unhurried manner toward the path leading to the Inn. Any slower, in fact, and the Hobbit and his cart would have stood stock still.
And no need to urge the mule to turn off the main road toward the Green Dragon. At the smell of oats and hay borne on the noon breezes from the stable, Taffy’s ears had twitched and none could have turned him from his target destination.
Barnaby, though, liked to feel he was in control. And so he continued to call out direction to his four legged companion. He had learned at least to save himself from too much frustration, by anticipating what Taffy was going to do and then telling him he must. It was a workable relationship.
When they’d neared the Inn proper, Barnaby called a halt and hopping down from the seat, handed the reins to one of the stableboys. ‘Some nice sweet hay,’ he instructed the lad. ‘And a little oat mash, if you will.’ Taffy nodded his head as if to agree with his master. ‘And if you’ve time could you comb and brush the old fellow. We picked up a few burrs along one of the narrower paths we took.’
Barnaby trudged up the few stairs to the Inn’s porch and pushed open the door to the Common Room. The dimmer interior of the Inn was an abrupt change from the bright noon light, and he stood for a few moments, blinking, as his eyes adjusted. His belly grumbled low in anticipation of the good food he could smell cooking in the kitchen. And his mouth watered at the sight of mugs of foaming ale being tipped up and drained by Hobbits and others as they sat relaxing at their tables.
He made his way straight to the bar and soon was wrapping his own fists round a mug of pale golden ale. He leaned his back comfortably against the bar top, and looked about as he sipped the gratifying brew. News of a party to be held that evening buzzed about the room.
Barnaby saw a fellow he thought he knew, just tucking into a plate of rolls smeared with honey. Not wanting to intrude on the Hobbit's meal, he smiled and nodded in greeting.
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