”Hellrien, you have a big head”, said Hemlock, who had been staring at Hellrien’s head from the side.
”Do you want me to smack you on yours?” Hellrien asked.
”Hellrien’s got big everything”, remarked Crambe, who had been staring at another part of her anatomy. ”OWWWWW!” Hellrien had just kicked him on the shin.
”Reel it in, Crambe”, Hellrien growled. ”I don’t fancy men who are shorter than me.”
”Are there any that ain’t in the whole Bree?” Hemlock wondered.
Hemlock made a good point. Men of Bree were of short stock, and even the tallest of them were usually at the same eye-level with her at best. While there definitely were taller men about in Bree sometimes, they were usually outlanders from Gondor or Rohan. And Hellrien was tall for a woman, even for a Gondorian woman, pure-blooded Númenóreans excluded.
”I am surrounded by hobbits”, she moaned.
The trio had slipped out of the camp after Blue Nose had fallen asleep, as most of the Dawners did on most nights. Tonight was the first time Hellrien had joined them. She had resisted the temptation so far, as she was still a bit shaken about her rough withdrawal experience and worried about what might happen if she went out drinking again. But on the fourth night the temptation and the coaxing of her mates had become a bit too much to resist. She had just wanted a pint of ale, or maybe two. Three at most.
But as usually happens at nights out like this, ’one more pint’ had occurred several times more than once and all three were now moderately drunk, Hellrien more so than she would have preferred to be, as the harsh and relentless morning exercises didn’t inspire heavy drinking. But at this point she couldn’t feel worried about next morning anymore. There was nothing one more pint couldn’t fix, after all.
”I have a sweet tooth for alcohol”, Hellrien pondered philosophically. ”In fact, my whole mouth likes it.”
”Are all Gondorian women so tall?” Hemlock wondered.
”What intrigues me more”, said Crambe, ”is if all Gondorian birds have such pontoons as you do. Because if they do, I… OWWWWW! Stop kicking me in my shin, Hellrien, damn you!”
”Would you prefer me to aim higher next time, Crambe?”
”Check it out”, Hemlock interrupted. ”Look who’s gotten out of his lair. None other than His Highness himself, Mister Cranes in all his grandeur.” Hemlock pointed.
Hellrien looked at a small, horribly gaunt man sneaking up the main street. Every now and then he would stop, look over his shoulder as if he feared someone was after him, and then continued along the street before he disappeared behind a corner. He was a depressing sight.
”And who’s Mister Cranes?” Hellrien wondered. ”He looks like he just nicked someone’s silverware.”
”Oh, he doesn’t need to”, Hemlock said. ”Cranes is the richest man in town. He’s in charge of overseeing the reconstruction of the town and manages the trade and imports. He lives alone in the ugliest, most decrepit house in town with his old, ghastly hag of a housekeeper, and only leaves his house when he needs to do something in the town hall. Which rarely happens.”
”I heard he has a daughter”, Crambe inserted. ”Or had, anyway. Nobody has seen her in years. The prettiest lass in town, so I have been told.”
”Which makes her out of your league”, Hemlock commented.
”Whatever”, Crambe said. ”One more pint?”
”One more pint”, Hellrien agreed.
