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It was still raining when Songo came into the Inn. He had come all this way from the outskirts of Bree to visit his uncle Carnale in Hobbiton to celebrate Carnale's 70th birthday. He was hurrying back to Bree, but needed a place to stay for the night. Besides, he couldn't stay outside in that infernal rain! The storm had just come out of nowhere, and Songo's hat had been blown away. He had been particularly attached to his hat, as it had been passed down to him form his Great-Uncle, who had been quite the traveller.
As he opened the door, the warm air came out to greet him and he decided that he would probably stay a week here. People were talking festively, and drinking Ale and Cider, and Songo could have sworn that he saw a dwarf tripping on a table, but re-balancing before anyone could see. He felt at home. It reminded him of the Prancing Pony, except that most of the residents here were Hobbits. But then he was a Hobbit, so he couldn't really complain. He looked around again and could see that strange dwarf gazing out of the window, with a forlorn expression on his face, Songo thought, sipping what he hoped was warm cider
Just then Songo realized how cold he was and warmed himself up by the large fire. Then he went over to the Barman and asked him for a pint of his finest ale.
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