[Folwren]

Wren blinked back remaining tears from her eyes and swiped at her face with her sleeve as she watched the Widow Rosebank from Bree disappear around a corner. It was annoying to find herself in tears for the second time in one morning. She glanced briefly at Ginger, only to find the hobbit gaping in surprise - at her, now that Mrs. Rosebank had gone. Wren sniffed rather apologetically as she stopped to pick up a towel that had been over looked.

“We’d better go on and finish the other rooms,” she said, quietly.

“Oh, yes - yes we should, rather,” Ginger said, starting out of her revere. She hurried forward to the next room and unlocked it, keeping whatever questions she had to herself, for the time being. What Ginger thought of the whole matter didn’t even enter Wren’s little head. Her thoughts were occupied on the very fact that Widow Rosebank had known of her and Tim. . .that she had worked for their parent’s landlord, and then she had come all the way from Bree to here. Unlike Tim, who might have been able to put things together far more sensibly than she could, Wren couldn’t understand the situation, and made it out for worse than it was. She was scared that she and Tim might have to go back.

“I’ve got to go find Tim!” she cried, coming out of the third room with Ginger. “Can I please? I’ve got to!”

“Alright, alright, child, I won’t stop you,” Ginger said. “Hand me the flowers. . .” Wren handed them to her in a rush, and promising to return shortly, she darted away and ran as though something were after her. She burst into the kitchen, interrupting Cook and another lady-hobbit in the midst of some sort of tea. Hurrying an apology, she slowed half way as she passed through towards the door.

“I’m sorry. . .Didn’t mean to be rude. . .where’s Tim, do you know? I’ve got to find him. He must be outside.” Without giving any time whatsoever for any answers, she ran out into the sunlight. The large group by the Chub brothers’ and cousin’s ale giving caught her eye and slowed her pace. She looked towards it and almost at once caught sight of her brother at work behind one of the casks. Her feet quickened again and she rushed about to where Tim stood. He didn’t see her and was working in the same hurried fashion as the two hobbits by his side were. Wren didn’t notice - or didn’t care - and caught at his arm.

“Tim, I’ve got to tell you something,” she said. Tim looked about and a smile flashed briefly over his features.

“Hey, Wren. Not just now. I’m busy.” He tried to disentangle his arm from her hands, but she held on stubbornly. He didn’t have time to figure out the look on her face. Nothing was amiss, as far as he knew, and he didn’t want to hear about anything that might have gone on in the inn just now. “Wren, go away! I’ve got to help.” But Wren didn’t let go. Her grip remained, and then the trouble struck faster than either of them could understand. He tried to push her off and she pushed back harder. He stepped back to save himself from a fall, but didn’t have anyplace to step back to and they both crashed into the makeshift table with the casks of ale.

Down it went, casks, mugs, and all. Being so low to the ground, the casks did not break, but rolled over several times and stopped. Tim and Wren picked themselves up quickly, startled and rather frightened. Tim gazed about him in mortification and then turned on his sister, badly shaken and considerably angry.

“Now look what you’ve done! Of all the-” but he cut himself short and snapped his mouth shut, well aware of the onlookers and strangers standing about. Wren looked up at him, and then down at the wreck of things, and then she burst into violent tears and fled the scene towards the kitchen door.