Most folks who know of hobbits have heard of their enormous appetites; those who have made their acquaintance are also amazed by their capacity for ale. It takes a lot to loosen their tongues in the presence of strangers, even if that stranger brings music and pays for free rounds.
Cutch was not a stranger to hobbits. In his younger days riding with a Dwarf trading caravan out of Needlehole, he came to know the Shire folk rather well. And, over the years of his marriage to Her Ladyship Seregrian, he had come to count Lancogard, a Deputy-Sherrif of the North-Farthing, as a close friend.
None of this gave him special consideration in Yondershire, a region populated by “recluses and troublemakers” of the Shire proper, but it did give him an insight into hobbits generally. For ten days, with lute and loot, he wandered between the several Yondershire villages, settling into their inns, playing music, and buying rounds of ale for the locals. He knew better than to ask outright about the “Red Elf”, as Seregrian was known to some of them. Being small in stature did not indicate a diminished sharpness of hobbit wit, particularly in the presence of strangers. As Cutch was of the race of Men, many hobbits would regard him as a “high-hipped” hooligan until his behavior would prove otherwise. Music and ale would help his cause. And so, as their mood toward him warmed, he waited for their love of gossip to give some clue to Seregrian’s possible passage through the region.
On his last day in Nobottle, Zinnia, a stable mistress from the camp on Foxden Road, came in to The Fox and Fiddle. She brushed the road dust from her garb and heartily welcomed the happy cheers and whistles that greeted her. She ignored Cutch’s polite nod until it was pointed out to her that the Man was “buying”. Regarding him with a wary eye, she sat and poured herself an ale from the pitcher he had bought for the table. “So, you think yer a bard, eh?”, she challenged, which brought guffaws from the hobbits nearby. She was as pretty as any hobbit lass, but he noted she carried the scent of hay and horses.
Again, Cutch nodded politely to her and began playing a quickly improvised song, drawing its melody from a ballad about a soldier returning to his farmgirl sweetheart and changing its words to be about a Quick-post pony rider returning to his beloved stable mistress. She was soon smiling and wiggling her toes to the beat, and when he had finished, she led the cheers for his performance. Soon, he was sitting with newly made friends, sharing tales and ale.
“Have you ever heard of the Red Elf?”, the Zinnia asked Cutch when it came her turn to tell a story.
“I’ve heard the name”, he answered. “What about Her?”
Despite the teasing doubts muttered by the others at the table, she mentioned seeing the Red Elf several months ago riding east on the Foxden Road. Over the laughing disbelief and jeers of the tipsy hobbits nearby she loudly and proudly insisted, “And she asked ME about the road to Sarn Ford!” Waving off her chiding detractors, she shouted, “Hey Mr. Bard, play that song again!”, which he did several more times that night.
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