[piosenniel]

‘Land sakes! Why thank you for excusing me. My feet are twitching to be up and dancing.’ Cook rose from her chair and giving a quick nod of her head and a smile to Lithmire, she hurried off to the little dance area that had been cleared in front of the small stage. For a moment, she almost turned back to ask him if he’d care to join her. Nay! Let him be, Vinca Bunce. He’s comfortable there as guardian of the teacups. Don’t prod him; he’ll bolt.

Reaching the dance floor, she lifted her skirts a bit and stepped lively to the jig the band was playing. Her knees flashed in the lamplight at times as she high-stepped. And a number of travelers from beyond Hobbiton, merchant men come to trade, looked on in approval. She did not encourage them, though she enjoyed the attention. It made her feel quite young and spry.

One poor fellow thought he might sidle in close to her, to join in. But she raised her brows and gave him a withering look. His fantasies deflated, he sat meekly back down and buried his embarrassment in a mug of ale.