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Wren paused in her berry picking only long enough to glance into Ginger’s basket. She quickly resumed - the hobbit had twice as much as her at least, though it could hardly be because her fingers were any faster. More likely the reason lay with Wren having eaten at least half of what she had picked.
‘Second breakfast? We never eat that. What do you eat? Eggs and bacon again? I don’t think I could have that much a second time today...’ she trailed off as she flicked an ant off of the large, plump berry in her hand and stuck it in her mouth. Ginger glanced her from the corner of her twinkling eye and laughed, but made no answer as Wren appeared to have forgotten of having asked the questions at all. The girl was working with both hands now in a futile attempt to try to catch up.
When Ginger filled her basket, they headed in. Wren’s was only half full, but neither of them seemed to care very much. They laughed and talked merrily as they crossed the yard toward the kitchen door, Ginger swinging Wren’s hand.
In the open doorway, Ginger, having entered first, stopped in her tracks and her laughter stopped and her smile began to fade from her face. Wren pushed herself forward and little and peered about her skirts to see within.
A middle-aged looking hobbit sat at the table with his foot propped up on a stool. Wren winced and drew back an inch before coming forward to look again. The foot had blood on it, though it was no longer bleeding a great amount. She could not see what sort of wound caused it, but it didn’t look pretty.
Ginger, having recovered her countenance and bravery, walked forward again to the counter to put her basket of berries down. ‘What’d you do to yourself, Meriadoc?’ she asked as she passed him.
‘Trying to dodge some horse’s foot...dropped the pitchfork,’ the stable master said with a wince.
Wren stood in the doorway, frozen in her spot and staring. A moment later, her attention left the wounded hobbit and turned towards the door as Cook burst in, followed by one of her helpers.
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