AND SO YOUNG he seems in comparison; a shoot of a seedling in comparison to a thorned and graceful rose. Bilbo tilts his head into the silence, gentle acknowledgment along with his bow.
❝ I’ve been, ah, told – my presence was requested in place of our dignitaries; might it have to do with the agricultural exchange, m’lord? ❞
Lithe extremities splay along the curved edge of his throne, a dark brow JUMPING upwards like a child in mid tantrum; yet a soft dip of his head { though sharp, wise eyes locked }, ensues towards the halfling, out of sheer courtesy and recognition of the shorter’s respect. ‘ ‘ Yes, the wine and vegetables that you wish to have by trade. ‘ ‘




















