Rosie looked down as she set the pie before him. “This must seem plain, after feasting with the high and mighty.” She wiped her hands on her best embroidered apron, the one she wore only on feast days.
“They do eat some fancy stuff down south. I saw roasted swans with the feathers still on ‘em!”
“Maybe for outlanders," Rosie said as she sliced the pie. The berries glistened like rubies in the flaky crust. Cherry pie, his favorite.
Samwise nodded, and he raised the mug of golden ale brewed by Farmwife Maggot. “Plain food is best. Leastwise for hobbits.”
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