[piosenniel]

29 Nárië

Halfred mopped his brow with his red bandana, and loosened the collar of his shirt. It was only midmorning, and already the sun was glaring down balefully. Waves of shimmering false water played across the roadway in the distance, and Halfred could feel his face growing red, his nose blistering.

Dumpling, his faithful pony, clopped along slowly, head down, ever so often casting a wistful glance toward the shade under the trees set back from the road side. Halfred himself had half a mind to head off under the trees. His dear wife had packed him a snack to tide him over until lunch, and he longed to sit in the cool grass, his back against some smooth barked tree, and enjoy the savory offerings.

Instead, he sighed, steeling himself against temptation, and gave a little kick to Dumpling’s flanks, urging him on. Today was the day he would clear that one item from his list that he had put off. It was time for another try at questioning the Big Folk at the Inn.

Hob came out to take the reins as Halfred dismounted. ‘Have you seen Mister Mithadan?’ he asked the quickly retreating stabler.

‘Can’t say as I have,’ came the fading reply as Hob took the pony into the stable.

Halfred wiped his brow one last time and stuffed the damp cloth in his back breeches pocket. Slowly he climbed the steps and pushed open the door to the Common Room. Ah! There was Prim, standing by the bar giving some last minute instructions it looked like to Buttercup, who deftly balanced a tray of pints on one hand, while shaking her head yes and no as Prim talked.

‘Think I could get one of those?’ he said, sidling up to the bar and standing near the two.

‘Depends,’ said Prim, hands on her hips, a steely gaze in her eyes. ‘You’ve not come to bother Mistress Piosenniel, have you?’