"Ugh! Where is it? It was here last week!" she yelled. Bramblerose was looking for the dried rosemary she picked last month. She was saving it for when the trout swam in from the south. Bramblerose loved trout above anything else. It used to be rabbit steak until an incident with a wizard ruined her appetite of them.

A fat fish sat on her kitchen counter, gutted and cleaned. Bramblerose was preparing it her favourite way: fire smoked trout with rosemary and lemon zest. All she needed was that damn rosemary. It was supposed to be by the window, above her viola. She looked in every nook and cranny, but no rosemary.

She heaved a heavy sigh. "Now I have to make a trip to Hobbiton. Great." She grabbed a handful of pennies, her shawl, and locked her door behind her. Molly, her pony, was waiting by the gate. Bramblerose hopped up onto Molly and gave her a pat on the neck. "Ready, Molly? Were gonna go see Clematis!" They set off just as the sun hit the mid sky.

They arrived around noonish when Molly finally gave a notice of thirst. Bramblerose tied her up with the other ponies and was left to deal with the children petting her. The hobbit made her way between shops, waving hello and saying salutations. She made a bee-line for the herbal shop with a smile on her face and jingling pennies in her pocket.

"Bramblerose! Hey, how are you-" Clematis was cut off by Bramblerose slamming her fist on the counter.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Clem? It's Bram! We've talked about this, Clem!" Bram whined like the child Clematis remembered her as.

She placed a hand on Bram's. "Hey, I'm sorry you were named by your drunken father and depressed mother. But it's your name, hon. Get used to it. So, I assume the usual order?" Clematis grabbed peppermint leaves, oranges, and a pound of birdseed.

"Yes but I also need rosemary. The trout came in." Bram plucked a few leaves from the enarest bushel and placed them on the counter. "Now, Clem, I only have 10 pennies." Bram trailed off and rapped her fingers on the counter wood.

"Hon, I can't keep skirting prices for you." Clematis scanned the store. "This is the last time, you hear me? You had better get a paying job." She took the 10 pennies and bagged the items. She walked around the counter and handed Bram the bag of goodies. Before Bram could say thanks, Clematise grabbed her into a hug, her head just under Bram's chin. "You are my best friend, Bramblerose Bramble. I want you to be happy."

Bram left, groceries in hand, and Clem's words in her mind. She met back up with Molly, undid the braids in her mane, and made way for her hobbit hole. She could feel the whispers and stares as she weaved between shops.

"Might as well be totally human."

"Look, the REAL halfing."

"Honey, don't point. Don't look either."

Bram was sick of it, just as how she was sick of it for the past 20 years. She was the best thing to gossip about, the best lesson for children, and the best story to tell travelers. They'd talk about how her mother was a sell-body and one day sold it to the wrong person. Her father ended up being, not another hobbit, but a human. Bram, the literal Halfling, now a gossip topic for when market day rolls around. This is why Bram lived on the outskirts of town, away from other hobbits, her only real neighbor being Grandpa Joseph.

Bram was at her gate by the time her angry tears subsided. Her old neighbor walked by pushing a wheelbarrow and smiled.

"Hello, Bramblerose. Fine weather, no? It's perfect for growing plants. I love it when the pansies bloom. Oh look, one's riding Molly!"

Grandpa Joseph has known Bram since she was born. He was one of the few hobbits that treated her like a normal person. He knew her mother when she was still a bar waitress. When she began selling herself, Grandpa Joseph helped clean her house after all her customers left. When Bram was born, he took care of her, teaching her to walk and talk. By the time she was 15 she already towered over him, but he loved her just the same.

Bram smiled back and waved. 'I'll leave some plums on his doorstep tomorrow.' She thought. The inside of her hobbit hole was clean as a whistle. All the chairs in place, shows in a neat row by the oak door, and pictures hung to the exact degree. Bram was proud of her home, considering how it looked when her mom was still alive and doing business. She ran a successful brothel, more so than the ones in Bree and Laketown combined. Her mom left her with enough money to last a lifetime but Bram wouldn't get a cent of it until she had her first child. Bram promised herself that her son or daughter would have a hobbit father, if it would ever happen.

Bram's trout was the perfect shade of crispy brown by the time the moon was up. The fish were big this year so she cut it in half to save for later…or in an hour. She crumbled the rosemary in her hands and squeezed her last lemon on it, making the juice splatter on onto the fire below and causing little sparks. Using a spatula she slid her dinner onto a plate and with a glass of cherry-plum wine she sat by the window. It was just starting to rain, giving off that earthy smell the hafling loved so much.

She enjoyed the combination of the rain outside and the fire inside as she ate her meal. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Bram dropped what was on her fork. She looked at the clock; it was a quarter past 7 and she wasn't expecting anyone. Clem was at home with her husband trying to make a baby, Grandpa Joseph was asleep or at the pub, and mother was dead.

"There's literally no one else," she said out loud.

She glanced out the kitchen window only to see curly black hair, and long at that. Big grey coat and…braids? She began to think her visitor was not a hobbit. She tiptoed to the door and looked out its window. The visitor was angled away so she could not get a look at his or her face. Although, she could spot an ear and it was not pointed like a hobbit's, more of a rounded shape but bigger.

She cracked her door open and let out a weak, "He-hello?"

BAM!

Bram was on the ground and her door was wide open. She rubbed her head and looked up to see the visitor, now intruder, in the door frame. Her eyes grew huge with every foot she studied. His boots were huge and had metal toes. His pants were black and looked coarse with weird beads hanging off. His belt held his shirt in place while his coat, covered in different shades of black patches and some kind of animal fur, made him look bigger than he already was. He got down on one knee and offered a meaty hand in her direction.

"Did I hit you?" His voice was rough in a leadership was but calm, like the river Bram caught her trout in. Now that she could see his face, she could now notice his long black curly hair and the braids in front and in his minimal beard. His nose was larger than a hobbits and more bulbous than a humans. He had a small mouth but his voice made up for that.

"You-you-you…" Bram stammered.

"Me what?" The man stood up and removed his coat. Bram could now see a long dagger on his hip.

"You're a dwarf!"