[shaggydog]

As the first drops of rain spattered in the dust of the road leading from the river, Jims dug his heels into the small horse’s sides to urge it to greater speed. A useless waste of energy on his part, Jims knew, as the horse had only one discernible gait, and that being something between a slow shuffle and a fast amble. The journey from Bree had taken quite a bit longer than Jims had hoped, although they had all been aware of why this particular beast had been abandoned in his father’s stable several months ago. In lieu of a cash payment for its previous owner’s room and board at their inn, the beast made a poor bargain of the affair. But Jakes, Jims’ older brother, had been convinced that with a few days worth of oats and rest, the superior quality of this animal would shine forth. Of course he had to believe that, as it was Jakes that had “struck the bargain with” the seedy looking tinker who had half pulled, half pushed the poor thing into the tiny stable yard of their inn. Repressing a sigh, Jims peered through the growing darkness of the rain, which had turned mid-day into evening, and was happy to at least see his intended destination coming into view. The Golden Perch!

A clap of thunder boomed in Jims’ ear just as he reached the inn. The rain began to fall in earnest as he dismounted, looking about for a stable lad. Seeing none, and no wonder as the rain was coming in sheets now, Jims tugged at the reins and the horse, for once as eager to move as its master, stepped quickly enough across the yard and into the relative shelter of the shedrow. Without hesitation, Jims turned the horse into the nearest empty stall, hurriedly removing the saddle and bridle. Having grown up as an innkeeper’s son and having spent every day of his life seeing to customers, Jims knew his best course was to look inside the inn for the lad or the owner and settle with them then as to where best to house the beast. There was already an ample supply of hay in the rick and a wooden bucket of water hanging from a peg in the wall. Satisfied, Jims bolted the stall door shut behind him, making a dash across the yard to the round door of the inn, which at that very moment was just on the point of closing.

He was surprised to feel no small resistance to his push as he attempted to make his way inside. Who or what was on the other side of the door he didn’t know but with the rain now pouring down his collar he was determined to gain access. With one last good shove, the door gave way and Jims half stumbled into the common room, almost tripping over the body of a very small hobbit child who lay sprawled across the threshold. Stepping over the wee one at the last moment, Jims barely managed to keep himself up right, hanging on to the door for balance. A great gust of wind and several buckets of water followed Jims in as well, and his first thought was to close the door or risk the possible drowning of the small child at his feet. This being accomplished, the man then turned his attention back to the room and its inhabitants. Kneeling, he offered a hand to the child, saying, “My apologies young master. I’m afraid I mistook you for a door stop.”

Jims wondered how his weak attempt at humor would sit with the trespassed against hobbit child.
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