[Arry]

‘Well, sir,’ said Gil, ‘Mr. Headstrong, that is,' he continued, remembering what the pretty little golden-curled girl who'd given the older hobbit the whistle had called him. ‘It would be a pleasure to have you play with us. We’ve a fair cache of songs and tunes, but I’m thinking a man of your years and experience could show us a few new ones and maybe a few variations on the ones we do know.’ He looked over to where Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin stood. Tomlin was leaned casually against a nearby tables while the other two sat on the table itself there feet planted firmly on the bench. ‘What do you say, lads? Think the stage’ll hold another one of us?’

Ferrin laughed, saying another pipe player was always welcome. ‘But best be wetting your whistle first, sir,’ he said, pouring a mug of nut brown ale from the flagon they’d brought to the table. Tomlin and Fallon rolled their eyes at the poor jest. ‘What can we say, sir,’ Tomlin said, holding the half pint out to Falco. ‘He’s a drummer . . .’