After his last stint in the Cornucopia, Sam had decided to avoid the place altogether. He'd been of no use to anybody after taking that great crack to the head in the last Arena - more prudent, he thought, to wait and find someone willing to take words in exchange for supplies, rather than dodging a crowd of Big Folk all out for his blood.

As always, he's kicked off his shoes first thing, and while his flimsy costume isn't much in the way of protection, it doesn't rustle at all as he creeps low through the grassland, all but silent. It's over his own breathing he first hears voices, and draws in a breath to listen.

The first one's familiar, and he picks up his pace as he goes, calling softly as he draws near, "Well! If that isn't Mister Sartoris I hear--?"

But his words die on his lips as he sees that Bayard's not alone - and Sam's brow furrows as he looks at who he's took up with. They're not far apart in height, him and this woman, but he's sure she's no Hobbit - why, Bayard's the tallest of the three of them.

He looks between the two of them, instinctively wary on Bayard's behalf. "Careful, there, Mister Bayard," he says. "She's no more a child than I am." The invitation to the woman to explain what she is he leaves for her to pick up on, if she chooses.