[Arry]

Hanson tries to strike up a conversation with Wren and Tim

Hanson had his fill of cider. The grown-ups were talking and he had grown tired of listening to them. His little five year old mind was drifting away from the conversations at the table and toward finding something fun to do. His gaze flicked to his older brother, Woody, who at the age of eleven was trying desperately to be thought of as more grown up than he was.

Woody was following his Uncle Gil’s lead and he laughed when Gil did and every so often threw in a comment when he could. He was rewarded for this by smiles from Rowan and claps on the back from her brother.

Hanson took the opportunity to slip off his chair while everyone was talking about something the Elf had done and walk quietly away from the table. He waved to those he knew in the common room as he passed and made his way to the fireplace. He liked to sit on the raised hearth and swing his legs with the heat from the fire keeping his back toasty.

A girl and a boy, bigger than she was, were also making their way toward the fire. Hanson climbed up on the hearth and looked about the room. Their Ma and Da must be outside taking care of their cart and pony. He wondered where they came from. They weren’t Elves – they didn’t look like his friend Neviel. And they certainly weren’t Hobbits. They must be Big Folk . . . like Derufin and Zimzi. But not all grown up like them.

He looked at them curiously for a moment, then hopped down from the hearth to the floor. Never one to be shy, Hanson walked up to where they were sitting by the fire.

‘Hello!’ he said, smiling at the both of them. ‘My name is Hanson. Hanson Boffin. What’s yours?’ He sidled onto one of the empty chairs as he waitied for their answer.