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A large pair of muddy boots with a small hobbit poking out the top of them stomped down the road toward the Green Dragon Inn. To say that the halfling who inhabited those boots was small would inflate his size, for he was extremely small. Smaller, indeed, than many a halfling child. Even in his boots his head was no more than two feet above the road that he tramped, but he held that head high as though he were a giant among hobbits, and whistled a common folk tune gaily as he tromped. He seemed to take great pleasure in tromping, making a great show of bringing his feet down with finality upon each step. He wore an expensive waistcoat of green and blue, and his trousers and shirt were immaculately well tailored. Thrown over his shoulders was a travelling cloak that, while in good repair, had clearly seen good service. His hands were clean but strong and finely chiselled with callous: clearly a prosperous hobbit, but one who had prospered by dint of his own hard labour.
He crossed the yard of the Inn and stopped at the door to remove his boots, which he left carefully by the side of the stoop. Lifting his knees high to climb the steps he moved through the door and entered the Green Dragon. He stopped for a long moment to gaze about at the crowd of folk gathered there and his wide eyes drank deep. He had clearly never seen such a crowd of non-Hobbitish people before and was taking the time to enjoy his first opportunity to do so now. The smell of bacon frying woke him from his amazement and he scampered toward the bar. Even at the hobbit-sized end of the bar, his head only just poked above the counter, and he had to pull himself up onto it somewhat to speak with the pretty barmaid who came to take his order. “What can I get you sir?” she asked.
“Well, for starters, some of that bacon that I smell a-frying would be more than welcome, for sure, as well as some nice eggs if that could be managed. And do you have any good bread about? Nice rye or wheat-cake, I mean, none of that foreign stuff.” He was unsure if the bread in this part of the Shire was what he was used to, for he had never been on so far an adventure. The barmaid assured him that their bread was only of the finest Shire quality. “Very good, lass, very good indeed. And could I have some beer with that, for I’ve been tramping for days and I’m that parched.” The lass nodded brightly and skipped away to fetch his order.
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