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Fifty seconds! Tim said to himself. The wash was bitter and his face screwed up at it. But after the first sting it had caused to his poor, mangled tongue, it soothed the sharp pain and he decided to try to keep it for as long as Cook directed. All the while, though, he kept shooting dark glances (that weren't seen because of the darkness of the barn itself) at his sister. It was entirely unecessary, he thought, for all this fuss to be made about him.
Nonetheless, his hand clutched the ice to his face as the doctoring hobbit instructed him. He had acquired a fierce headache in the few minutes between Wren's departure and the rescue parties return. He looked up for the first time at the elf who had followed Cook out. He had been aware of his presence, but hadn't hardly dared to look at him. Elves were few and rarely seen in Bree, or at least where he had lived in Bree, but he had heard great things about elves and he had no doubt that every elf in the world, so long as it was a he, would have seen great and terrible wars, known many secrets, both dark and light, of the past, and been so wise that he could answer every question. Tim never bothered his head about the girl elves, and he probably would haven't have been half as awed by the presence of this one if it had been Tindomion's sister instead of Tindomion.
He finished the counting and spit the nasty remedy into the waiting bucket. Cook thankfully had a cup of clean water ready for him when he finished and he took it carefully, though gratefully, in his free hand and rinsed his mouth again.
"Am I goi'g to be alrigh'?" he asked clusmily, looking back at Cook.
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