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With cookies and hot tea in her stomach, Caity felt much better, not to mention the relief she felt with the knowledge that her trip had not been in vain. When she and Ruby reached the door to her room, she thanked her and gratefully went into the small but cozy space, shutting the door behind her. A little fireplace was lit, the flames casting a warm glow upon the walls.
Realizing that perhaps it would be best to change out of her wet clothes before doing anything else, Caity quickly took off her wet things and spread them before the fire. She then shook out her curly, sandy brown hair before putting on a comfortable cotton nightdress.
She sat down on the low bed, curling her toes into the soft rug on the floor. Slowly, she inspected her instruments for any damage. The first one she pulled out of her pack was a small tin whistle, but she quickly placed it on the bed beside her -- it was cold but otherwise unharmed. It was the wood she was worried about. A cherrywood flute seemed alright; she tentatively blew a soft note, hoping not to disturb any sleeping guests, and she nodded at the sound. Next, she slid a double pennywhistle (in essence, just two pennywhistles which had been attached together by her father, but it sounded impressive) out of a leather case. This, although a little damp at the end, met her approval, as did a little clay ocarina that she had brought just for good measure. It was a curious instrument from Dale; her father had obtained it at Mr. Bilbo Baggins' famous birthday party many years before, when he was but a lad.
The last instrument was her pride and joy: a real elvish-made flute, made of beautiful blackwood with a few metal keys in addition to the usual holes. Although she realized that anything of elvish make was likely to withstand such petty things as rain, she checked it over anyway. All was well; the keys weren't even sticky. She put her pack over by the fire to dry as well, and carefully placed her instruments on the bedside table.
A very content hobbit snuggled into bed, not minding the fact that she'd have to be up in a few hours. Caity thought of Cook's words to her -- she had asked whether she could sing.
She could sing well enough, she guessed, although she rarely sang in front of others. She loved a little song to pass the time while she was doing chores, and she certainly sang in the bath -- but then again, everyone sang in the bath.
I guess I could sing if they need someone to, Caity thought. Quite frankly, she was too tired to be think about it any more, so she curled up into a ball on her side and drifted off to sleep.
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