As the days passed, the fact that he couldn't stay in his chosen guild forever became more and more apparent to Sam.
It was made incredibly easy to stay almost forever; meals were provided, there was enough training and other tasks to keep him at least passably busy, and simply not talking seemed to deter the others in his room enough to leave him to his thoughts. Though it didn't deter Gandalf, he hadn't exactly expected it to, and he was glad for what conversation the wizard provided. But his worry for Frodo - doubtful as he was of Frodo's actual presence - was a constantly fresh thought on his mind. Their separation did not sit well with him, and he had much that he still wanted to discuss with the other hobbit.
And so, the afternoon of Flammedi (Trewsday, to Sam) saw him out and about more then he had been in the weeks prior. In his arms he juggled some bags; one with some apples, a fresh waterskin, a whetstone, a washing-board and various other useful supplies he'd managed to purchase cheaply in town, all carried in a beat-up tin basin. The guild clothed him, but with limited garments, and training never failed to soil them with sweat and the stink of toil.
He was bustling down the streets of Goldvale, just between districts, crossing into Platmoor with his things. Goldvale was not a place built for Hobbits, nor were its people; he earned some strange looks rushing down the road, and for the moment, he was thankful for the weight of the basin he carried. So far, people had noticed that more then they tended to notice him when he left the guild.
Sam's head was bent as he crossed into the green district of Platmoor; eyeing the things he'd bought, deciding on what else he might need and where he ought to get it with his remaining coin, but he was taken from his thoughts relatively easy as the top of his head nudged against something. Instantly, he looks up; he's bumped into the thigh of a human woman, leading a fully-grown horse. The hobbit quickly backed away; his large, bare feet were resilient, but an easy stepping-stone for a horse's hoof.
Samwise remembers his courtesies, and nods, shifting the basin in his hands. "Your pardon, Miss."
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It was made incredibly easy to stay almost forever; meals were provided, there was enough training and other tasks to keep him at least passably busy, and simply not talking seemed to deter the others in his room enough to leave him to his thoughts. Though it didn't deter Gandalf, he hadn't exactly expected it to, and he was glad for what conversation the wizard provided. But his worry for Frodo - doubtful as he was of Frodo's actual presence - was a constantly fresh thought on his mind. Their separation did not sit well with him, and he had much that he still wanted to discuss with the other hobbit.
And so, the afternoon of Flammedi (Trewsday, to Sam) saw him out and about more then he had been in the weeks prior. In his arms he juggled some bags; one with some apples, a fresh waterskin, a whetstone, a washing-board and various other useful supplies he'd managed to purchase cheaply in town, all carried in a beat-up tin basin. The guild clothed him, but with limited garments, and training never failed to soil them with sweat and the stink of toil.
He was bustling down the streets of Goldvale, just between districts, crossing into Platmoor with his things. Goldvale was not a place built for Hobbits, nor were its people; he earned some strange looks rushing down the road, and for the moment, he was thankful for the weight of the basin he carried. So far, people had noticed that more then they tended to notice him when he left the guild.
Sam's head was bent as he crossed into the green district of Platmoor; eyeing the things he'd bought, deciding on what else he might need and where he ought to get it with his remaining coin, but he was taken from his thoughts relatively easy as the top of his head nudged against something. Instantly, he looks up; he's bumped into the thigh of a human woman, leading a fully-grown horse. The hobbit quickly backed away; his large, bare feet were resilient, but an easy stepping-stone for a horse's hoof.
Samwise remembers his courtesies, and nods, shifting the basin in his hands. "Your pardon, Miss."