Just before the sun rose, the girl returned to the Scholar's Archives. The traveler couldn't see that she was covered with gore at first, in the grey of pre-dawn, and as she stopped to scrape her boots on the cobblestones before the door, he crept upon her silently.
“Kitten,” he called to her. He knew that wasn't her proper name, but he had long ago stopped calling anyone by their true name, however much they protested. The girl did not seem to mind.
She turned, perhaps surprised by his presence. He was glad to see her safe in truth, but now he felt a sense of awkwardness with the expected social pretense. She told him she had cleaned and sliced up the remaining bits of boar, hence why she'd been dirtied, and then she invited him inside.
He should have declined the offer, but her face was so earnest in the invitation and it was quite cold outside. It took little convincing on her part and shortly he found himself within the still-slumbering rooms of the Scholar's Archives, warming himself by the fire.
Again the girl peppered him with many questions, none of which he wished to answer and so he remained evasive. He decided to give her a fresh apple from his rucksack, hoping that perhaps she'd quiet a bit to enjoy it. That did not work, for the girl picked at the fruit like a bird, taking tiny bites and waving the apple about as she gestured with her hands to emphasize her words.
It was not that he disliked her company though. Rather, her mannerisms reminded him greatly of the one woman who would always hold a place in his heart – even down to the scarlet hair, though Kitten's was a good deal more scruffy from her state of living.
He felt that same incorruptible light from this girl, and in ways he'd allowed himself to enjoy a bit of familiarity after a long season of loneliness.
The sun was soon rising, and the other occupants stirring within their beds. The traveler took his leave quietly.
That day, the traveler mused on the girl's proposed idea to journey to the Shire together. He had not traveled with companions during his long wanderings across the lands; he simply refused to be held responsible to another, ever since... no, he would not think on dark things right now.
But the Shire was safe enough, or so he had heard. Surely the hobbits he'd seen about Bree were upright folk, as a whole. And the journey would not be so very long; a handful of days perhaps if they slowly meandered. The road between Bree and the Brandywine Bridge was well traveled and in good order, and so he should have little to worry about. He could not expect to find welcoming lodging whilst there, but both he and the girl were accustomed to making camps of circumstance.
And, he had to admit, the girl was bright company to one who lived in self-exile.
