[Imladris]

Olo glowered at the food, or lack thereof, and fished for his pipe in his pocket. Sticking it into his mouth, he desperately wanted to light it but decided that that might attract too much attention from any disgruntled Tooks who might be wandering about. He missed his poor pipe and he hadn't been able to fondle it with his tongue when he had been trotting so briskly across the country. His musings were interrupted by Brass:

"This is such poor fare," Brass mumbled as he gazed with a queazy eye at the thin soup and slightly stale bread. He glanced at Hob, who was playing with the soup and said with a furtive eye at Olo, "That plan of yours, Hob..."

"Shut your trap, Brass," Olo snapped, imitating the southern men. "We are not going into the village for a few reasons. One, we are shirrifs and we are proud to be shirrifs. We do not go slinking around looking for food when we can have plenty of it in a days, courtesy to our big strong southern, orcish monkeys. Three, we've already eaten --"

"If you can call that eating," one of the hobbits muttered.

"Enough," said Olo. "Jest wait an' see, foolish hobbits. This will seem like a thorn in the side as soon as we're through rootin' the Tooks grand burrows."

With a baleful glare at Hobs and Brass, Olo, with numerous grunts of effort, managed to wriggle his blanket from one of his pouches. Spreading it upon the ground, he eased his corpulent, massive body onto it and wrapped the ends of the blanket over him. Knobs of hard earth poked his flabby sides playfully, gnats hovered near his ear, firebugs flitted playfully and tauntingly in front of him. Frogs croaked, his back began to ache, and something soft and ticklish crept up his legs. Olo groaned. It ws going to be a long, uncomfortable night.