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“Tell me now about that lass you were tussling with,” Fordogrim requested as he and Tim approached the inn. “Is it some trouble as is none of my business or perhaps it’s something that I can be useful with?”
“Well,” Tim replied slowly, scratching his head, “it’s hard to say. I don’t rightly know what Wren wanted. She’s my sister, you know. And she wanted to say something, but I was busy with the ale, and I’m sure it could’ve waited. But she didn’t think so. You see, sir, we’ve just come here yesterday evening. . .” he told Fordogrim a brief version of their story while they entered the inn and found two empty places at a table - about leaving Bree after their parent’s deaths, traveling all the way here without finding any place to stop for good, and then arriving at the Green Dragon and then the stablemaster’s accident this morning and how he somehow got asked to help with the stables until the hobbit had recovered.
“Everything is well and fine now, and I have no idea what was so urgent that she had to come barge in and interrupt me. I doubt anything was. She’s excitable, you see? And probably just had something exciting to tell me.”
It was possible that’s all Wren had to tell, he told himself. But maybe not. She did have a look of fright on her face, and she had run off in tears. . .something must have been wrong. But Tim pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He had to justify himself, because, really, it wasn’t his fault. It’s couldn’t have been. . .
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