After riding with Zinnia back to Foxden Road, Cutch bid farewell and they both expressed the hope of another meeting someday.
As the road dropped down into the Shire-proper, open heath gave way to hilly woods until they parted to reveal the charming village of Little Delving, which many considered an extension of the nearby town of Michel Delving. The Little Delving residents, however, rejected the idea, quick to point out the differences between the two settlements; their waterfall-fed streams, minute distinctions in the exteriors of their hobbit-holes, and the proclaimed superiority of their garden’s carrots and potatoes.
Cutch slowed his horse to a walk and offered greetings to the village folk as he passed them. Many would reply with a reserved smile and a dismissive wish for his “safe travels”, others would glance at him warily and then quickly return to their chores, a few would simply ignore him with turned backs. Cutch was not a stranger to Little Delving, having passed through here on several occasions over the years in the company of his Wife as She led a party of others in Her House on some far-flung errantry. Never did they stop, though, and so never had the occasion to exchange other than passing pleasantries. He felt he would get no clues here about Her here.
He crossed the short distance to Michel Delving and noted a very real difference between the two settlements; this was a much larger town, the capital of the Shire as the mayor would proudly point out, with many more and much busier residents. Cutch might be able to ride through quietly and probably not be noticed at all, but he could not pass on the chance to return a greeting from a curious hobbit.
The Bird and Baby Inn nestled against the foot of The Mathom House Hill, and as it was mid-afternoon, the innkeeper and his workers were clearing away second snack and preparing for dinner; it appeared roast chicken would be on the menu. Eager to stay out of the way of the bustling staff, Cutch slipped inside and found a little table in a corner where he squatted carefully on a little chair.
“Hey! Ain’t you Cutch Crane?” a voice called out from a table across the room.
Startled to hear his name, Cutch peered at the rather shabbily dressed hobbit. “Aye, that’s me. And you are?”
The hobbit smiled cheerfully and gathered up his belongings, a bow, a quiver, and a worn leather satchel. Crossing the room, he said, “Can I get you an ale? It’s good for rinsing the road from your throat.” Without waiting for an answer, the hobbit whistled at the barkeep, held up two fingers, and pointed at Cutch’s table. After plopping his belongings on the floor, he sat and announced, “Furlong Fairbairn of the Fallohides, at your service Mr. Crane!”
The two smiled a little uncomfortably at each other until the barkeep served their ales and returned to his between-meal duties.
“Have we met?”, Cutch asked, knowing that they had not.
Furlong took a long draw from his ale, wiped his lips on a sleeve, burped, and said, “Oh no, we have never actually met, but anyone who travels about these lands has run across mention of you … and your lovely wife.” He offered an impish wink.
Cutch lifted a brow and leaned forward. “So, you’ve heard of Her, too?”
The hobbit also leaned in and lowered his voice. “Aye. I ran across her a few months ago … alone. You trying to … catch up with her?”
Normally, Cutch would be very suspicious of such serendipity, but Furlong’s sincerity encouraged further discussion. The man quietly nodded and sipped his own ale, waiting for more from the hobbit.
Furlong looked about the room before continuing. “I’m guessing you are headed east, then. As am I, so let’s set out together in the wee morning and talk more about it on the road, shall we?”
Cutch merely nodded again. Apparently, Furlong had more to say that should avoid hobbit curiosity.
The Bird and Baby was as good a place as any to end the day.
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