A Strange Meeting
A hooded figure lurked, hunched, in the shadows of the inn, trails of smoke leaking from the long stemmed pipe at his mouth. Mysterious brown orbs, half hidden, warily watched the busy room, his face lit only by a solitary stub of candle, nearly burnt out. His interest was peaked as four small figures, soaked to the skin, tottered through the door, bringing a downpour of rain with them. He choked on the pipe smoke and coughed loudly, attracting unwanted attention from everyone in the room. Wincing, he drew his hood down over his face, grateful for the cloud of smoke that obscured his presence. Interest waned, and the villagers returned to their conversations, accompanied by fresh pints of Barliman's Finest.
Silence reigned as one of the little folk started a song. Cheers resounded as he finished, asking for an encore. But as the small one finished, he slipped and fell off the table, vanishing as he hit the floor with a loud thud. Uproar resounded then, and the barman waded through the crowd to where the boy like figure was apologising profusely. Strider chuckled as he beckoned the hobbit over.
"Well, Mr. Underhill. You've put your foot in it. Or should I say your finger?"
A/N Thanks to WillTreatyRA for the cover!
