Filbus read the message in bed. One eye was shut. Dried blood stained his lips; he had eaten out Grumphilda last night. The tired halfling didn't even sit up. He let the letter fall to the floor and glared at the messenger.
"This is clearly a trap," Filbus said. "Tekilya, that half-assed mockery of an archivist is trying to draw me out from the Vale."
But the middle-aged hobbit got out of bed. It smelled spicy and musky like sex. Grumphilda slept on her stomach with all four limbs spread akimbo. The light filtered in through the circular window of the hobbit hole. The suns rays pierced through the smoky air.
Filbus stoked a fire. He put a brace of bacon on the skillet. Behind him, Grumphilda stirred. "I don't have time for this," Filbus muttered to himself. He took a bottle of brandy from his liquor cabinet. Uncorking it with one hand, Filbus spread apart his wife's buttcheeks with the other. Her hairy, sniglet-ridden anus glared at him like an Evil Eye. Filbus forced the bottle deep into her rectum.
Grumphilda moaned in pleasure, but remained asleep.
Filbus watched the bottle drain. Blub. Blub. Blub. When she sharted the brandy out, he'd have another problem to deal with. But this should keep her asleep for a few more hours at least.
For now, Filbus needed time to decide if he would walk into the trap or not...
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