Hearing the familiar, despair-filled voice from inside, a faint smile touched Roland's lips. He raised his hand and gently knocked on the wooden door.
Before the sound of his knock had faded, the despairing voice inside twisted into an irritable roar.
"I said we don't need any 'special services'!"
The irritation in his voice made it clear that the constant interruptions had worn him thin.
Roland chuckled softly and spoke quietly through the crack in the door.
"Hobbit, it's me."
The room was plunged into sudden silence.
A moment later, the door was yanked open.
A poor Half-Elf stood there, his hair a tangled mess, his apron splattered with a suspicious-looking sauce, and his face a mask of exhaustion and exasperation.
However, when he saw it was Roland standing outside, his wide eyes instantly lit up with delight.
"Mr... Mr. Roland?"
Hobbit's voice trembled with emotion. His delight was mingled with an obvious sense of distress and profound relief.
