“From my cellar. The North had delicious gourmet flavors,” the Rock Biter growled slowly. “I thought they had all perished, but last year, I picked up a vintage! Mmmmmmm. I will break rock with you.”
“Bru-ra-hoom,” Treebeard sputtered, pressing his enormous branch-hand on his guest’s shoulder. “I am grateful, strong friend-rock, but I drink Ent-draught. You bite rocks. It is the way of things.”
The Rock Biter considered this, and then lifted his gift-wrapped rock again. “The way of things allows for sharing a snack with a friend.”
Treebeard allowed himself a pocket-sized grin. Surely just a nibble wouldn’t hurt.