"Pimmie," Pippin mouthed, terror plastered across his face and a chicken busy shaking water off of herself at his feet. Merry whirled around to face Pippin's sister, whose head was covered with a cloak borrowed from the closet.
Looking down at his feet to try and scrounge together an explanation, Merry realized just what a mess the pair was. He could see Pippin's mud caked feet next to his, covered in dirt all the way up to his calf. His were just as bad, if not worse – he had, of course, waited in the pouring rain while Pippin rescued the fatally endangered bird.
Thankfully Pippin spoke first, as Merry's tongue was tied in horribly tight knots. "Pimmie, don't tell Mama, please!"
"I'm not so sure what I'd tell her, and by the looks of both of you, I'm not sure I want to know," she said, glancing over Pippin's waterlogged features. "Come inside, quickly, before anyone notices that you're missing," she added, after pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders, "Oh, if Mama sees you two!"
"Pimmie, no!" Pippin yelped, startling even Merry who was used to such exclamations from his cousin.
"What's gotten into you, Pip?" said Pimmie. "Come inside, out of the-"
"I can't leave Poppy!"
"And why is that?" Pimmie said, a little curious now as to what had lead Pippin and Merry outside in such horrible weather.
"They'll eat her!" Pippin cried, throwing his hands into the air and sending mud flying in all directions.
"What?"
"He doesn't want Poppy to be eaten for Yule dinner, Pim." Merry said.
An onset of extraordinary laughter overtook Pimmie, nearly knocking her over.
"Pimmie!" Pippin shouted, the tips of his ears reddening by the second, "They're going to eat her! Don't you care?"
"Oh, Pip," said Pimpernel, taking her brother into her arms. "Didn't Mama tell you? We're having mushroom soup for Yule this year."