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"I think," said Marcho, "that we should make our escape before we're seen."
Posco was spinning his empty mug of ale first in one direction, and then the other, and he looked shyly about. "You make it sound as if we were criminals, Marcho," he said. "The worst anything could do is talk to us."
"And don't you think that's rather awful?" said Marcho. "If someone comes and talks to us, it won't be me that suffers the most. I'll simply be annoyed. But you'll be quite frightened. I'm only thinking of you, Posco."
"I won't be frightened," said Posco, though his eyes widened in more than a little alarm as he once again surveyed the large crowd of people. "I'm not as shy as I once was."
"Then why don't we flee from these riots and go to Lily's home?"
Indeed, why didn't they? Would Lily really and truly be here? He liked to think she would, for it would be so much easier to have a chance meeting at the Inn, rather than an official calling at her home. But whenever he reflected on it for a lengthy amount of time, his heart would begin to sink, for he realised how absurd it was to hope that she would happen to be at the Inn simply because he was. No doubt he would return home disappointed, and Marcho would be annoyed for having to travel such a long way for no reason. Not that Marcho really and truly had to go, but Mrs. Brandybuck didn't like her shy little boy wandering to and fro about the Shire.
Posco sighed, and once again looked about him, but this time his eyes inclined upwards, and he could not help but smile softly as he saw the twinkling lights hanging in the trees, looking like falling stars that had been caught in their descent. Their light fell softly upon the grass, a golden dance floor for frolicking shadows. The place was certainly magical, and where magic was, wouldn't Lily be there also?
"I think... I think Lily will be here," he said. "I know she'd love it."
Marcho gave a little moan, and resigned himself to his unhappy fate.
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