Story by Rook (seven.sky @ eudoramail.com)
She got off the boat very late in the evening, and avoided the various shouting to find the captain, pressing a few coins into his hand. He directed her to a reliable hostelry, thank you very much for your patronage, sir, and I hope you enjoy your stay. She enquired when he would be returning to Dale; he said he would cast off in two days. She told him she would have a letter for him to take there.
This was the furthest east she had ever been.
The shores of the Rhun were warm, even here where the forest began to thicken; people spoke Westron well enough, but there was a strange tounge here as well, and she had begun to learn it on the boat, wheedling lessons from the cabin boy the captain had insited she keep. She found her way to the hostelry, hefting her pack on her back, and knocked three times as she had been told.
The man who opened the door had no beard, and his hair was black and fell in barely preceptible waves to his shoulders. His skin was as dark as hers, but with a far yellower cast. Most of the people she'd seen wandering about looked something like that. It was a relief not to have to crane her neck so much, as well - these Men were half a foot shorter than the Men of Dale. "Welcome, traveller," he said, not bothering to hide his amazement. "You seek lodging? What might we call you?"
"Mr. Buzzard," she said, pushing the door open and stamping her feet a few times. "Captain Agnar told me to come here." Always good to know to have a reccomendation. "He said you kept a very reliably warm bed and did excellent polenta."
She had kept a warm hammock on Agnar's boat, and he had not questioned "Mr. Buzzard", taking the typical view that silver speaks sufficiently loud. Thankfully, the inkeeped did not seem inclined to question, either. She had spent months with the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, and had decided to take a tip from their women; her hair was now cropped to her ears and she wore comfortable leather trousers, and if she still had the outline of a woman, noone was sure enough of it to call her such. Accordingly, she had left the name Delphnium Grubb behind, and was "Mr. Buzzard" when necessary and nobody when not. She still got stares, as hobbits had not been to these place in long years, and she suspected no hobbit had ever been to Rhun before.
The bed was warm, cheap for a freind of Captain Agnar, and the supper was exotic but very tasty, especially to one who had not eaten since the morning.
She decided to write her letter in the morning, and curled up, and drempt of the uncharted lands to the East, and of Crow in the Shire, and knew she had made the right choice.
~
Pretty Good Year