|
He’d just begun to inquire about the “springle-ring” Mistress Rushybanks had spoken of when the servers came through the door, food and drink balanced carefully on their hands. He could see his Hobbit companion’s face light up at the sight of the repast now being spread on the tables, and indeed his own stomach seemed to be rumbling a decidedly non-Elvenlike response to the savory scents.
‘After you,’ he said getting up from his seat and offering his arm to Miribelle. They made an odd couple as they wound their way toward the tables.
Plate mounded with the inviting offerings from the tables, Tavaro walked carefully back to his table. He put his plate and mug down on the table’s top and pulled out the chair for his tablemate. ‘Let’s dig in,’ he said, sitting down himself. ‘We’ll talk about springle-rings over dessert, eh?’
|