Hobnob finishes packing the thimble into a fresh pipe, the hobbit draws a small torch and lights it with a flint. Holding the torch to the pipe between his clenched teeth, Hobnob cheerfully listens and bows when courtesy would call for it.
Elven song is entrancing, and so fair as well! Hobnob flushes, his already rosy cheeks, become a dark red. Well met indeed. replies Hobnob to Vardolas and Authiel.
The hobbit claps his cousin on the back prodigiously, What is that you say good dwarf, the land here doesn't produce? Hobnob shoots a glance to Riggins and then back at the guard tower; smiling all the while.