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Miribelle was a bit distracted. There were wonderful smells coming from the kitchen, especially as the servers went in and out the kitchen’s door. Her mouth watered at the thought of the main meal to come. And it was with a struggle of will that she refrained from getting up to have another helping of biscuits and jam.
The question in Tavaro’s voice drew her attention back to what he had been saying. ‘I have to admit the only tunnels I’m familiar with are those we Hobbits have made for our homes.’ She echoed a part of the Dwarvish refrain he’d just hummed. ‘It’s a very big song those Dwarves have made,’ she went on. ‘Lovely, really, but I should think their voices would rumble through our little tunnels like a winter’s storm through the willows along the river. Too big for our walls.’ She hummed a little more, a spark coming into her eyes at the deep beauty of the song. ‘But you’re right . . . wouldn’t it just be grand to hear this echoing in the great cavern beneath the mountains!’ Spots of color bloomed on the Hobbit’s cheeks at the daring idea she’d briefly entertained of such an adventure as that might be.
‘I really do like those little pictures that you’ve drawn, Master Tavaro,’ she continued, reining back her imaginings. ‘Tell me, what has struck your fancy here in the Shire? Have you ever been to one of the mid-summer parties here in Stock? Plenty of songs and storytelling at those.’ She eyed his tall, lean figure. ‘Why you might even like to join in a springle-ring!’ Miribelle tapped her toes in a lively rhythm as she smiled at him. ‘Keeps you young, you know!’
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