Isaidub The: Hobbit

We stood until their steps faded into the gray. The courtyard felt larger without the small figure filling its edges. I shrugged and tucked my hands into my sleeves—an awkward motion unless you were used to the cold.

Barendin’s face softened. For a moment he was no longer the small man of the lane but a shadow of the boy he was beneath the beard—if his beard could be called such—bent over a hearth at the edge of a long-ago summer. isaidub the hobbit