Quickly, Sam is discovering that the city of Goldvale is not at all built for people of his size.
Navigating the tables and taller members of the Lancers Guild is making him miss the humbler hall of the Green Dragon. A far cry from what was installed in the Scarlett Dragons, but more familiar - and, most importantly, its accommodations were smaller. There, he hadn't worried about dropping his food on the ground trying to climb up to a seat.
He had since learned to choose his paths more carefully; tangling someone else's legs with his stature hadn't been a rare occurrence since arriving in Goldvale by any means. And that, like many incidences of Sam's stubborn vigilance failing him, meant spilled food on the floor and a hungry day ahead. So he stood from his place by one of the far walls with his plate of fried, brown bread, hard-boiled eggs and watery porridge, watching the crowd of guildmates for small holes he could squeak through. He'd rush when he saw one, scurrying constantly between and through the bigger people, keeping a tight hold on his plate until finding his way to the nearest table.
He rushes to the bench as quickly as he can manage, and every day, expects what food he might have lost. The only thing he seems to worry over is the egg; he never finds that he's able to make it to any table with a full bowl of porridge, and he finds the bread too bland without pairing the eggs with it. He slips the plate on the bench - climbing up onto the seat with the plate in hand is another foolish thing he's learned to avoid - and he hoists himself up with a grunt.
Seated and (partially) comfortable, Samwise places his half-cold breakfast on the table before him and keeps his eyes down.
MESS.......HALL?? IS THAT A THING OR
Navigating the tables and taller members of the Lancers Guild is making him miss the humbler hall of the Green Dragon. A far cry from what was installed in the Scarlett Dragons, but more familiar - and, most importantly, its accommodations were smaller. There, he hadn't worried about dropping his food on the ground trying to climb up to a seat.
He had since learned to choose his paths more carefully; tangling someone else's legs with his stature hadn't been a rare occurrence since arriving in Goldvale by any means. And that, like many incidences of Sam's stubborn vigilance failing him, meant spilled food on the floor and a hungry day ahead. So he stood from his place by one of the far walls with his plate of fried, brown bread, hard-boiled eggs and watery porridge, watching the crowd of guildmates for small holes he could squeak through. He'd rush when he saw one, scurrying constantly between and through the bigger people, keeping a tight hold on his plate until finding his way to the nearest table.
He rushes to the bench as quickly as he can manage, and every day, expects what food he might have lost. The only thing he seems to worry over is the egg; he never finds that he's able to make it to any table with a full bowl of porridge, and he finds the bread too bland without pairing the eggs with it. He slips the plate on the bench - climbing up onto the seat with the plate in hand is another foolish thing he's learned to avoid - and he hoists himself up with a grunt.
Seated and (partially) comfortable, Samwise places his half-cold breakfast on the table before him and keeps his eyes down.