Tolkien owns them all. A little Bill the Pony drabble as requested by CactusWren.

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Apples. I never had them before I met these little ones. When they came to me, the old master and his cruel hands weren't there, just a little one who spoke softly and held out something sugary on a flattened, callused palm. I pricked my ears forward, unsure if this was a trap. Master Ferny'd done this before. My head darted forward to snag the apple slice from the hand, but it did not pull away. As I nibbled, enjoying the rare treat, he offered me another one. I quivered as a hand rested upon my shoulder, but didn't hurt.