A Land to Call Their Own RPG

[piosenniel]

Alaklondewen’s post

The gusty wind ruffled the skirts, aprons, and coat-tails of the hobbit-folk gathering in the center of Bree where a meeting had been called for all the hobbits in and around the town that mid-morning. Groups of ladies stood huddled laughing and gossiping about what the subject of the meeting could possibly be. Merry children ran and played in the streets, while their fathers leaned against the surrounding trees, smoking long wooden pipes, and the discussing the politics of the day.

A short wooden podium had been erected overnight on the small stage in front of the community hall, behind which two middle-aged hobbits talked in hushed whispers with their backs to the crowd.

“Well, brother, spirits seem to be high and with the nice weather the folk should receive our proposition favorably,” the taller of the two spoke to the other who kept his eyebrows furrowed and eyes on the small paper he held in his hands.

“I hope you are right in your thinking, Blanco, but we must not let our heads reach the clouds.” The hobbit turned slightly and looked over his shoulder at the townspeople. Then after taking a deep breath, he continued, “I believe all are here who wish to be…let us begin.”

Blanco nodded in agreement with his brother and walked silently to the podium. He greeted the crowd, but the excited voices of hobbit-folk drowned out his initial attempt. Looking around the podium and his feet, Blanco coolly stepped to the side of the stage and reached a large stone roughly the size of his fist. As soon as he returned to the podium, he pounded the stone on the side of the structure producing a thunderous sound that promptly hushed the voices of the crowd. Raising his arms in greeting, the hobbit welcomed the hobbit-folk and thanked them for coming. “My name is Blanco Bolger. My brother, Marcho Bolger, and I come before you today to offer all of you an opportunity the likes of which will live on in the stories of our descendents.” Blanco paused and cleared his throat before continuing, letting his words sink in. The crowd appropriately responded with much murmuring. “I may be getting ahead of myself…please allow me to back up a moment. During the last several years, Bree has been a desirable place for many to live…too many. I know that most if not all of you feel the pressures of the growing population everyday. The available land for young families is becoming scarce, our streets are cluttered with the waste of too many, and there is ever the threat of war from the east.” Pausing again, Blanco watched the fathers nod, and a few “that’s true” and “he’s right” were tossed out. “How would feel if I told you we have a solution? We do. We will begin to settle the land to the west. We have lived among the Big People too long, and now we can have a land to call our own!” The crowd immediately began raising their voices with approval and opposition. Blanco raised his hands to the folk and called “please, please, wait” until they had quieted once more. “We understand many of you will have questions and comments, but if I may, I would like you to hold off for just a minute, while my brother gives you some information about the location…Marcho?” The hobbit stepped back to allow room for Marcho to come forward.

Marcho, the more serious and older of the two brothers, unfolded the small paper he’d been studying earlier and laid it flat on the podium. Speaking before others was not something this hobbit enjoyed, and he remained silent for the moment, gathering his thoughts before beginning. “Those of you who know my brother and I well will know that for the last several months we have been surveying the land beyond the Baranduin.” The hobbit paused, squinted at what was close to the noon sun, and wiped the nervous sweat from his forehead. “What we have found is a rich, uninhabited land. Approximately one hundred leagues west of the river, we will settle the hills of the White Downs. These hills will not only provide desirable living space, but will protect us from future threats.” Marcho glanced at his notes periodically as he spoke. “The White Hills are surrounded by lush lowlands that will provide land ideal for farming. Our settlement will be in a prime location for obtaining trade with the Men of Arnor and the Elves of Lindon. This factor will benefit our people immensely. We, as a unified people, can hardly afford to let this opportunity pass.”

Here, Marcho stepped back and Blanco came once more and stood beside his brother. “We have contacted King Argeleb II and received permission to enter the land and settle in all the land beyond the river Baranduin to the Far Downs. Our only obligations will be to keep the bridges and roads in good repair, aid the King’s messengers, and acknowledge his Lordship as our King. One week from today, we will leave the gates of our fair city and lead all those families who wish to be apart of this momentous occasion. This will truly be a day that will live on in the stories of our descendents.” Blanco waved his fist in the air as a sign of victory.

Marcho, always calm and rational, said, “We will now take any questions or concerns you may have. We will take our time and answer you in an orderly fashion. Please feel free to voice your opinions. This is an important day for all of us, and we want to be sure you have enough information to make a well-thought out decision." Marcho then announced to the Hobbits that all those who wanted to go along should meet back at the West Gate, all packed up to travel, in one week's time.

The brothers spent the next few hours in front of the townspeople answering questions and debating the need to make such a move. Many of the hobbits were passionate about their concerns, and some, who make it very clear they disagreed, stomped away from the meeting grumbling and calling out their complaints.

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Arestevana's post

The day was warm and sunshine spilled through the open window of the house. Elsa Whitfoot smiled contentedly as she scrubbed the breakfast dishes. The kitchen door was propped open; the delightful breeze well worth the extra sweeping it would take to clear the wooden floor of leaves. Through the open door, Elsa could hear her daughter Alora playing in the field behind the house.

As she finished drying the last of the dishes, Elsa glanced at the clock on the mantle piece. She knew there was an meeting in the town square, presumably of great importance. She called for Alora, shaking her head fondly as the little girl ran in, laughing. Elsa caught her daughter’s arm and ran a brush through the girl’s hair. When she had brushed most of the grass out, she dusted off Alora’s skirt and tugged her pinafore to make it lay straight. Elsa handed a light coat to her daughter.

“My friends will be there too, right mother?” Alora asked, shrugging into the garment and pulling on her town shoes.

“I suppose they will be.” Elsa replied, grinning at her daughter’s delighted smile.

They left quickly, Elsa pulling the door shut behind them. Her husband Kalimac and their son Crispin were waiting at the end of the lane. Elsa spent a moment trying to secure her son’s hair, but gave up at his annoyed protests. The family walked together to the town’s center. Marcho and Blanco Bolger were speaking to a large crowd of hobbits. They spoke of a new land, providing safety and opportunities for the hobbit-folk. Elsa listened closely, intrigued.

The speech had been going on for some while when Alora caught sight of her friends and begged to be allowed to leave. Elsa consented distractedly, telling her daughter to return when the speech was over. The little girl ran off. Elsa continued to listen to the speakers, watching her husband to see his reaction. She could see Kalimac thinking over the proposal. She found herself hoping that he agreed with the brothers. The thought of moving to a new land was exciting, and she cheered loudly with many others when Marcho finished speaking.

When the speech ended, Alora appeared almost immediately, asking sadly if they had to leave. Elsa glanced at her husband, who was watching the Bolger brothers thoughtfully. She turned back to Alora.
“Yes sweetie, your father and I need to talk about something, and we’d prefer you be home so you can say what you think about our idea. Well, our idea, as well as Blanco and Marcho Bolgers idea.”
Alora sighed, but agreed without complaint, and the family headed home.

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Melisil's post

The day started out wonderfully! Alora’s mother had let her, after breakfast of course, play out in their backyard field. Nearing mid-morning, she was told that there was going to be an important meeting and that she needed to come. Alora had smiled inwardly and outwardly at this idea, as she thought it would be grand, and she could play with her friends while they were there.

“My friends will be there too, right mother?” she had asked, as she put on her coat and shoes.

“I suppose they will be.” Came her mothers reply. Alora beamed.

Once they were there, Alora saw many of her friends, “Oh mummy! Can I go play? Please?” she begged.

“In a moment dear,” said her mum, “I want to see what’s going on first, Alora.”

Alora’s father and sibling had come with them too. The four found some seats around the middle of the large crowd they were now in. After a moment, two men came onto a platform where everyone was speaking. The first man spoke, Alora couldn’t see him over all the heads very clearly, but his words were strong. Every now and then, Alora saw her parents, and heard all the other grown up Hobbits cheering. It interested her for a moment, but then saw her friends.

“Mummy! Now can I go?” she pleaded.

“Yes, go play. But come find me when the men stop talking.”

Alora nodded, then ran off to her friends. She played tag, and hide-and-go-seek, and rolled in the grass, and all sorts of hobbit type games children her age played. After a while, and after the men had finished their speech, she ran breathless up to her mum. She asked, somewhat more sadly then you would have thought after she came up so fast, “Do we have to go now?”

“Yes sweetie, your father and I need to talk about something, and we’d prefer you be home so you can say what you think about our idea. Well, our idea, as well as Blanco and Marcho Bolgers idea.”

“Yes mother.” Alora replied, and home they went.

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Witch_Queen's post

Sarah looked around as other hobbits struggled to get to center of the town. "Goodness what could this entire meeting be about?" Sarah worried about everything all the time. She knew she had no reason to worry. Yet that made her the hobbit she was. She had just finished getting dressed when her husband had told her that there was a meeting.

"Sarah!" She turned around to see her old childhood friend. "What do they have to tell us now. Perhaps they have decided that we should stay here and never leave. Oh how I would miss this place if I had to leave. Its been my home for so long." Sarah shared the concerns of her friend.

"Now Rose why would they want to make you leave or I? We have lived her for so long but getting out and seeing the world would be so much fun. After all I have gotten tired of see just dwarves and men. I want to see other places." Sarah pulled her jacket tightly together. The wind was blowing the few strands of her hair around. "We can't stay her forever." Rose looked at Sarah with disguse. She ignored the looked and focused on what was going on around her. She felt a tap on her shoulder as she turned to see her children and husband behind her.

"Did we miss anything?" She shook her head and then turned back to see what was going on. Sarah was ready to leave her home. She wanted to see everything around her. When will he decide that may, just maybe we should leave home and look for a new place to live. A place where I don' t have to worry about my children getting into fights with other children.

[piosenniel]

Memory of Trees' post

May Chubb stood on tiptoe, craning her neck to see over the heads of several hundred very excited hobbits. It was mid-morning, and it seemed that every hobbit in the country had turned out for the event. The noise was deafening.

An exceptionally tall hobbit moved unintentionally in front of her, blocking her view of the podium entirely. Oh, I hate being short, May thought furiously.

As she moved to a different angle, she suddenly spotted a familiar curly head bobbing amongst the crowd. “Father! Over here!” she cried out, but her voice was lost in the hubbub, and she lost sight of him. Sighing dramatically, May settled down behind two gossipy old ladies. They were discussing the mysterious meeting about to take place.

“I just don’t understand it,” said the first woman. “Calling us all together like this, and them not even giving a clue what about!”

“There’s no sense in it at all!” agreed the second, who was wearing a red shawl with beads that clacked when she moved. Leaning in closer to her friend, she said in a low voice, “But you’ll never guess what I heard, just this morning. I can tell, it gave me quite a shock, Edda, darling. Well, I was sitting in my yard – you know, Henry keeps this old rickety chair right out in front of the house, and I was simply scandalized at first, I just knew the neighbors would have the news all over town, us having a great wooden chair right in the yard, and oh well, he likes it – but as I was saying, there I was, sitting in that chair, and suddenly I began to hear some voices, and they’re talking all deep and important, like so, and I thought that maybe I’d better listen in, you know. Well, the first one says, ‘…couldn’t be that!’ And the second voice growls, ‘I heard it myself, just this very morning. They’re trying to make us leave our beloved homes and go gallivanting all over the country!’” She ended triumphantly.

The first woman gasped. “You don’t think…”

“Oh, I couldn’t say.” May found this a bit hard to believe. The old lady continued ominously, “I’m just saying what I heard. But mark my words, Edda, no good will ever come of leaving our own lovely land.” Suddenly she giggled. “Oh, Edda, did you hear about that Rosie Burr…”

The two moved on to talk of other things, but May had stopped listening. The second woman’s words sent a thrill of excitement through her. Leaving Bree? So that was what this was all about!

But May had no more time to ponder, for a hush had fallen over the crowd. A young hobbit was rapping for order on the wooden podium. “My name is Blanco Bolger,” he said simply. “My brother, Marcho Bolger, and I come before you today to offer you and opportunity, the likes of which will live on in the stories of our descendents.” A murmur ran through the crowd. After pausing, Blanco continued, “I may be getting ahead of myself…”

“I’d say so!” May heard an old hobbit next to her mutter.

“…please allow me to back up a moment. During the last several years, Bree has been a desirable place to live for many… to many. I know that most if not all of you feel the pressures of the growing population every day. The available land for young families is becoming scarce, our streets are cluttered with the waste of too many, and there is ever the threat of war from the east.”

Several hobbits near May were nodding their heads in agreement. “It’s just too crowded around here!” She heard somebody cry out.

Blanco cleared his throat, and then went on. “How would you feel if I told you we had a solution? We do.” The silence was tangible. May swallowed hard, caught up in the feeling of excitement that seemed to surround the gathering. “We will begin to settle the west. We have lived among the Big People too long, and now we can have a land too call our own!”

The crowd stood in silent shock. Then, like a burst of deafening thunder, all the hobbits began voice their noisy opinions at once. Cries of, “What? We can’t leave our homes!” “He’s right, you know.” “It’s just nonsense, that’s what!” rang out among the crowd. May was rapturous. “A land to call our own!” she echoed, letting the sweet, cooling words seep deep into her brain. “To call our own,” she murmured again, pronouncing each word deliberately.

The call for order was given, and finally the roar died down enough for Blanco to be heard again. “We understand many of you will have questions and comments,” he called out. “But if I may, I would like you to hold off for just a minute, while my brother gives you some information about the location… Marcho?” He stepped away from the podium and allowed his brother to come forward.

Marcho was a serious-faced hobbit, with shaggy brown hair and a soft, commanding voice. May liked him at once, even if he was a Fallohide.

“Most of you who know my brother and I well know that for the last several months we have been surveying the land beyond the Baranduin,” he began, then stopped. He wiped his forehead with a large white handkerchief. Several hundred hobbit eyes glued to his face, waiting for the promised information, and he clearly wasn’t enjoying it. “What we have found is a rich, uninhabited land. Approximately one hundred leagues west of the river, we will settle the hills of the White Downs. These hills will not only provide desirable living space, but will protect us from future threats.” Marcho’s voice grew in strength and clarity as he went on. “The White Hills are surrounded by lush lowlands that will provide land ideal for farming. Our settlement will be in a prime location for obtaining trade with the Men of Arnor and the Elves of Lindon. This factor will benefit our people immensely. We, as a unified people, can hardly afford to let this opportunity pass.”

Looking utterly relieved, Marcho let his brother take over from there. His younger brother went on to explain about trade and government; things that seem of great importance to adults, but are seldom of interest to twenty-seven year old hobbit girls.

“We will now take any questions or concerns you may have,” concluded Marcho when his brother was finished. “We will take our time and answer you in an orderly fashion. Please feel free to voice your opinions. This is an important day for all of us, and we want to be sure you have enough information to make a well-thought out decision." Marcho then announced to the Hobbits that all those who wanted to go along should meet back at the West Gate, all packed up to travel, in one week's time.

One week! She mused excitedly. May had reached the age where time begins to come into perspective, and realized how very short a time one week was. It doesn’t matter anyway, she thought. My parents would never agree to this.

This she knew, yet still wondered. What would it be like get out of this place? To leave those rich, conceited Whitfoots, and never have to work in their fields one more day, it was like a dream. And then, to have land of your own! To till, and plant, and water, knowing that it was all yours; this was May’s fantasy.

“May! Mayflower Chubb!” May spun around to see Bella Rolland emerge out of the crowd. She and Bella had been friends since the time they were both little hobbits. “There you are!” cried Bella. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Faldo wouldn’t let me come until I finished planting the rest of the peas. I absolutely detest green peas…”

May’s thoughts were broken off by her friend’s lively chatter. As they wandered away from the crowd, she couldn’t help think, maybe someday…

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Kransha's post

The hobbit squinted as he peered over the numerous heads of other Bree-hobbits, removing the lengthy pipe from his mouth, blowing a delicate ring of smoke into the crowd, and tucking the pipe back into his vest pocket swiftly. His eyes stared intently and the two figures who were now taking places on the makeshift podium erected suddenly on the platform stage in front of Bree’s community hall. The roar of the Halfling crowd was overwhelming, but Kalimac Whitfoot let the cacophonous din glide past his ears like the subtle sound of the tide, for he did not need to hear all the petty conversations flowing like rivers around him. It had been impressed upon him that it would be in his and his family’s best interests to hear these two hobbits out and he planned to do so.

The unwieldy vortex of sound was finally harnessed by the first hobbit at the podium, who silenced the crowd with the boom of stone struck against the structure he stood at. Kalimac had already been silent, contemplating whatever the speaker might be going to say, and tried to ignore the startled yelps produced by the maneuver. He jumped slightly at the sound, but soon settled again and continued focusing upon the hobbit, who was now greeting the audience and beginning to speak. Now Kalimac recognized the voice and gait of the Halfling. It was Blanco Bolger, brother of Marcho Bolger, the hobbit who had married his sister Estella some years ago. In fact, Kalimac hadn’t seen either of the two hobbits in days and had been under the impression that they were on an excursion outside of Bree-land, possibly somewhere out west surveying, as the rumor went.

Blanco began with a simple and humble introduction, first stirring the gathered group to some unnoticed mumbling. He continued a moment later, brandishing an oratory flourish, immediately utilizing the element of suspense to hook the audience. A wave of inaudible murmurs rippled through the crowd momentarily, before Blanco Bolger continued. He finally began to draw near the point of his speech. He began to speak of growing population and land availability, local factors that Kalimac knew all too well. Blanco went on; swelling to a dramatic point, and another wave surged forth from the Bree-hobbits around the stage, all of them beginning to move towards the podium.

Kalimac kneaded the flesh on his chin knowingly, contemplating the facts and proposal as Blanco yielded the spotlight to Marcho, who stepped up and began to talk. Kalimac looked upward, musing silently, and his ears began to twitch ever so slightly, as they often did whenever he was having philosophical moments. He breathed deeply as his keen eyes flitted, looking from the stretching sky to the hobbit that stood just before him at the podium, still preaching to the eager listeners. He had been thinking of the very things that Marcho and Blanco were speaking of. He had a good, comfortable, well-off life in Bree, but there had to be more for the Whitfoots and all their Halfling brethren. He had been having daydreams on the subject and this seemed like the ideal coincidence to present itself.

‘His proposal is indeed interesting,’ thought the hobbit, ‘The hobbit is certainly right about the crisis here in Bree. Perhaps he is on to something. There would be much to gain from the open lands of Arthedain, new prospects and opportunities everywhere. The wells of fortune west of the Baranduin are practically made manifest for hobbits to settle. It is, in fact, precisely the resolution of what has burdened my dreams lately. It’s almost too perfect.’ Kalimac looked back on Marcho, listening further to how he and his sibling had organized the journey for colonization and needed only willing participants in the quest. ‘It would be no great upset if we were to follow this new way. We may have settled here, but relocating would not be an insurmountable hardship if managed correctly.’ His thoughts drifted momentarily to contemplating the Chubbs, the hobbit family in his employment. ‘They would not be so eager,’ He said inwardly, his brow furrowing, ‘Any relocation would not be as easy for them. But, after all, it is my decision. If they wish to remain in Bree, they can break the bonds of their employment to me whenever they desire. Then, for the most part, it is settled. The family will surely agree with me on the matter. If not, they can be convinced.’

A nervous smile crept across his features as he considered. He knew in his heart that his wife and children would not disapprove, since they generally bore his familiar adventurous nature. He hoped that the Chubbs would be willing to follow, though he knew as well that they were too dependant to abandon their employers. He would simply discuss the matter briefly and concisely with his family before setting off with Marcho and Blanco Bolger on this new quest for a hobbit home.

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rutslegolas' post

Henry and the others were playing about the stage erected for the speech of the two brothers, who were thinking of settling in land beyond the Baranduin river. Henry seemed interested by this whole affair and was listening to this whole speech very carefully. From their family talks he had the idea that their family was preparing to move to this new land. He wanted to know more about this land himself as he liked exploring. He asked his father, "Where are we going, father?".

"I do not know my son, but I think; no better not make any conclusions. I do not my son not yet," said his father. His father's voice sounded to him more grim than usual but he could not guess what was going on or whether they were going anywhere or not, but he knew that this was going to affect their family's living and also his own life. His young hobbit brain could not think of such grim matters for a long time. He again started playing with his friends and his sister, as if nothing had happened that a day.

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Fordim Hedgethistle's post

“What’s that he said?” Fordogrim asked the young hobbit who stood next to him, “The Brandywine River?”

“The Baranduin,” the hobbit lad replied. “It’s a big River hundreds and thousands of leagues away.”

“Eh, what’s that, what’s that?” Fordogrim scoffed. “It’s not that far off I’m sure, though it’s a goodly step. What’s he talking of that for?” The lad tried to fill him in on the details of Marcho’s speech, but the people about them hushed him into silence. Glowering at their temerity, Fordogrim turned his attention to the little stage to hear what young Master Bolger had to say. He could not believe his ears: had the young fellow gone completely mad? The more he heard of the proposal the less it made any sense to him. Rich land? Wasn’t the land hereabouts rich enough? For seventy years Fordogrim had cultivated the dark earth of Bree and for seventy years it had rewarded him with its bounty. As to the promise of trade, Fordogrim snorted loudly. Leave trade to the likes of the Whitfoots, he thought. What’s a hobbit got to worry about trading with Elves and Men from Faraway for? We’ve everything we need right here already.

As the Bolger boys continued their speeches, Fordogrim moved to an unoccupied bench at the side of the square and sat down slowly, sighing audibly as he took the weight off his right leg. It had been getting worse lately, what with the weather changing, but it was still bearable. Fordogrim knew that he would outlast his leg. Leaning his head back against the wall of the house behind him, he closed his eyes and thought about the letter that he had been composing to Primrose on the ride to town. It would need to be amended.

My Dearest Prim, he began in his mind,

I couldn’t find any decent seeds for the side-garden. Ferny had naught but pumpkins today, and Thistletoe was no better: lots of seeds, but the moisture’d got into them. The only thing they’ll grow is mouldy. I know how much you like sweet peas, but there’s still that stand of them in the kitchen garden, right where the scent can make it inside, so that will do for this year. Perhaps I can take a small clipping from that and plant it round the side garden? It would go nice with the marigolds when they come in full.

Still haven’t got round to fixing the barn door, but I will be sure to do it soon. When the rain starts to come on heavy again the wood’ll swell right up and we’ll have a back-breaker time trying to open it up. Must remember to talk to our son about that this afternoon.

And before you start to worry, don’t: I rode Stout into town this morning to save my leg. Better that than listen to our son’s wife nag at me about doing the walking myself. I’ll walk back halfway to give Stout a rest but then he’ll have to carry me up the hill himself. I feel bad a-asking it of him as he’s almost as old as myself, so far as ponies go that is. I know I keep saying I’m going to put him out to pasture once and for all, but each time I try he gives me such a look that I know he’d rather do his best with me than do what’s best by him.

You won’t believe what I heard in the town today. Masters Blanco and Marcho Bolger have gone completely cracked. Making speeches they are, about leading a lot of Bree folk away from here to some uninhabited waste miles from nowhere. There are a lot more folk than you’d think willing to listen to them too! Lucky for me, they’re so eager to hear this foolishness that there’s an empty bench in the square (for once) so I’m able to take a bit of rest and send you this letter.

I’m finding it hard to do much but think of you my dearest Prim, for it was just about this turn of season that you went away all those years ago. I’ve done my best by our boy since you went, but I can’t help but think that he missed of having his mother about. No-one knows better than you that I can be a cussedly hard-tempered hobbit, and I admit that more than once I’ve spoken hard words to the boy when you would have spoke softer and to better purpose. He misses you more than he lets on, I think – just the other week I caught him a-putting a nice posy of wildflowers on your grave and crying over it, just as he has since he was a young hobbit.

The crowd is breaking up, my love, and those wild-eyed Bolgers seem to be finished. I hope that you are well and happy. I miss you awfully.

Your husband,

Grim

Fordogrim tried to pull himself to his feet, but his leg gave way beneath him and he stumped down again. From out of nowhere appeared the young hobbit with whom he had been speaking earlier. The lad took Fordogrim’s elbow and tried to help him rise, but Fordogrim flared out at him, “What d’yer think yer doing!? When I need your help laddie I’ll ask you for it! Now if you please!” and he wrenched his arm free from the lad’s clasp. Staggering to his feet and hiding the discomfort that he felt, he walked off through the thinning crowd, tapping out his frustrated anger on the cobbles with his cane.

As he was leaving the square he saw his son and daughter-in-law amongst the crowd. He wondered what they had made of the speeches. And then a terrible idea occurred to him: what if they actually approved of the crazy plan? And then a horrific idea occurred to him: what if they agreed to go along with it? He shook his head to drive away all such nonsense and whistled for Stout.

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ArwenBaggins’ post

A lock of mahogany hair would not stay in place on Crispin's head. Pulling it gingerly from his gray eyes, he flung it haphazardly behind his ear. Another gust immediately blew it back; huffing in frustration, he shook his head and approached a short wooden podium standing perfectly straight in front of the community hall. Another Fallohide like himself had been talking for a few minutes now, but he was not paying any attention.

"…We will begin to settle the land to the west. We have lived among the Big People too long, and now we can have a land to call our own!" Crispin did not hear if Blanco had said anything after that. Excitement erupted and exposed its self in his slightly pale cheeks, turning them a rose hue.

Pushing himself through the crowd of murmuring hobbits a little more, he found the middle-aged man he was looking for sitting in the dirt off to the left side of the podium. "D'you 'ere? Some new land to the west of here, west o' the Baranduin! Papa! Papa!" Crispin dropped to his bare knees in the dust next to his father.

The man pulled his pipe from his mouth and blew out a puff of smoke. "Crispin, let Master Bolger speak. I know you're excited about this new land, and I am as excited as you are. Just try listen to the rest of the speech, and we will get more information," The boy snorted slightly in anger and settled into a comfortable position on his bottom.

"But Papa, I don' wanna listen to Mister Bolger any longer! Bree's too crowded; all those Big Folk take up too much room. Why don't we go now and beat the rush? I'm sure the land's real rich an' the water's real clean- why, we could have a whole new farm that's a lot bigger than the one we have now! It'll be so ni-," He was stopped by his father, who stood and leaned against the tree. Crispin knew the battle was over- his father had won and there was nothing he could do about it.

Picking up a nearby stick, he started drawing in the dirt. After what seemed like an eternity to Crispin, the meeting was over and his family was heading back to their home. Only two words were said on the return journey, and his father made them: "We're going."

Much to the relief and enjoyment of his mother and sibling, along with Crispin and his father, the Whitfoot family was going to the new land.

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Regin Hardhammer's post

Harold Chubb sat in his oaken rocking chair stubbornly staring into the fire and feeling a little frightened. He was proud of his simple home, a snug two-room burrow in the village of Staddle that lay on the outskirts of Bree. The rooms were small but tidy, and at night the four of them would squeeze together in the family room, leaving the bedroom for the elderly Fordogrim. Things were tight, but it was a warm and cozy place and he hated the thought of leaving it.

As he mulled over what Marcho and Blanco had said at the meeting, he wasn't sure what he should do. A prudent Hobbit, Harold saw little advantage in leaving Bree to go off on some wild adventure. The White Downs and the journey to get there seemed like an outlandish idea that could only lead to disaster.

All his life Harold had lived near Bree, working on a piece of land that was owned by the Whitfoots, a prominent Fallohide family. He had no real desire to leave. Sadly, however, there didn't seem to be much of a choice: if the Whitfoots left, he would have to go with them, for the Big Folk who bought the land had announced their intention to erect a large mill and stable that would leave no room for Harold and his beloved vegetable patch.

Yet the prospect of leaving everything behind did not make him happy. The place they were going probably didn't even have a good Inn like the Prancing Pony, where there was close comradeship and mugs of ale available for a modest penny or two. And what about the safety of his family? Would Grandfather Fordogrim survive the hard journey? Who knows what hardships they might run into on the road?

With mounting apprehension, Harold realized he didn't even own a real weapon such as a sword or a bow. With the dangers of the wilderness soon approaching, he would need something to protect his family. He could not be a master swordsman or archer as some of the Fallohides were. But he did have some practical implements and tools that he used in everyday life: a sharp dagger for chores on the farm; a scythe for cutting grain, and, a fine slingshot used to disperse crows that had gathered too close to his crops. In the absence of proper weapons, perhaps he could use these to defend his wife and children.

With a sigh of resignation, Harold called out to his wife to make sure the young ones brought warm clothes, and reminded her to pack a bag of feed for the chickens. Then he went outside to recheck the wheels on his cart.

[piosenniel]

Child of the 7th Age’s post

ONE WEEK LATER .....

It was a bright and sunny day just one week after the meeting when Marcho had first addressed the hobbit community. Despite the earlier grumblings and hesitations, a considerable contingent of hobbits had shown up at sunrise in front of the West Gate; some were on foot, others astride ponies or seated in carts, but all carried their belongings with them.

Blanco paced up and down the line several times, warning families who were attempting to bring the entire contents of their household that they would need to be more selective, or risk falling behind with so heavy a load. At the last minute, several large dressers and tables were taken down from the backs of carts, and with many misgivings, relinquished to neighbors and friends who had decided not to make the trip.

A number of folk, both Big and Little, had turned out to see the travellers depart. The general air that prevailed was almost like a carnival, as children ran gaily about playing tag and friends shared baskets of cookies and cake with those leaving. Still, on the fringes of the gathering, things were not quite so happy. Older hobbits blinked back tears, sharing their goodbyes with friends and kin, uncertain whether they would ever see them again. And nearly all the adult hobbits, including the womenfolk, had bows thrown over their backs, swords buckled about their waists or small daggers tucked under belts. A few kept a heavy frying pan in close range on the seat of their wagon.

Cotton Woolthistle, the proprietor of the Prancing Pony, stood alongside the clearing and looked on in amazement. His distant ancestor Edmund Woolthistle had seen the Hobbits come to Bree some three hundred years before. Now, it seemed that over half of them would be leaving. Cotton sighed and shook his head. Big and Little Folk had lived peacefully together all that time, and he and many of his neighbors would be sorry to see the Little Folk go. The Hobbits had been good customers at the Pony for many a long year. He glanced up and was surprized to recognize two other families in the long line of those departing: the Whitefoots and the Chubbs. The Whitefoots had enjoyed dealings with Bree's finest merchant families, while the Chubbs were known to be good and sturdy workers. Cotton wished that he could persuade Marcho and Blanco to set aside this risky venture and remain inside the safety of Bree's dyke and hedge. But since they seemed determined to go, he saw little reason to try and persuade them otherwise at this late date.

[ArwenBaggins]

"Of course we'll see each other again Iris. When we've all settled in this new land, lotsa more Hobbits'll wanna come. Hopefully your Mam will 'ave 'ad 'er baby, an' then your whole family can come and live in this new place west of the river," Crispin wiped a tear from a black-haired girl's face, lifting her chin. She was his self-acclaimed girlfriend, against Crispin's will; he was, however, upset that her family was staying behind in Bree.

Iris sniffed and nodded a bit. "Okay Crispin. But ya gotta promise me that you'll be waitin' for me," The boy dipped his head. "No Crispin. Tell me you promise that you'll be waitin' for me when my family comes to the new land. Promise."

Crispin Whitfoot pushed the same unruly lock of hair from his gray eyes and kissed Iris on the cheek. "I promise we'll be there when your family comes. Now, I have to go. Iris, I'll see you again soon. Goodbye," The last word was very drawn out as he approached his family cart.

Jumping in the back, he flung his rucksack from his back and plopped it into the hay next to him. He sat on the edge of the cart, his bare feet dangling over the side. "Alora, sit down," He noticed his seven-year-old sister standing in the ankle-deep straw, a ragged doll dangling over the side; it was 'waving' to all of Alora's young friends.

A middle-aged man was standing in front of the cart, feeding the family pony. A middle-aged woman was standing next to him, embracing a few friends for what may have been the last time. He was excited about this journey, more excited than anyone; he was, however, a little frightened about all of the dangers the town bullies had told him about. "There are wargs, evil Big Folk bandits, ghosts, an' all kinds o' other things!" They had told him earlier that day as he was gathering apples from his apple tree.

He heard the creaking of the wagon seat, indicating his mother and father had sat down. His sister sat as well, leaning her elbows on the back of the driver's seat. "Here we go," Crispin muttered under his breath excitedly.

The wheels started turning, making loud rumbling noises as they moved over the rocks and dirt of the road. He scooted back a bit, raising his legs into the wagon. Iris stood with the rest of the Hobbits that were staying, tears of hope and fear staining her beautiful pale face. He raised his hand in farewell, squeezing his eyes together to hold back very unmanly tears. The cart slowly clinked through the gate, Iris vanishing into the dusty distance.

[alaklondewen]

Marcho sighed as he sat in the front of his wagon already holding onto the reins of the horses. The sun had not been up long, but he already felt they were wasting time. He might have started on his own had Estella not been saying her farewells to what seemed like all the women, both big and small, in Bree. Squeezing the reins tightly, the hobbit lowered his head and closed his eyes letting his shaggy hair hang.

A hand pressed down on his shoulder and Marcho, startled, jerked his head up. A familiar laugh greeted him immediately. “Calm down, brother. We haven’t left yet and you already appear to be a nervous wreck.” Blanco continued to chuckle as he leaned against the wagon.

“I’m not nervous,” Marcho snapped causing Blanco to step back and raise his hands in surrender. Looking over his shoulder at the hobbits behind him, the older brother continued, “We are wasting daylight. We should have already pulled out from here.”

“This is a big day, Marcho. You can’t expect folk to pack up and leave the only home most of them have ever known without making a to-do about it. Look up, the weather is perfect, and turn-out is better than we expected.”

Marcho nodded slowly in agreement but remained silent. The hobbit had been dreaming of this day for years, even though only recently the destination had been decided. Now that the time had come, he felt strangely surreal, and he half expected a terrible storm to blow up or something disastrous to occur that would prevent their leaving. Checking the sky once more, just in case, Marcho sighed again this time with relief. The sky was clear, so there was no evidence his negative thoughts were changing the weather.

“Go back to your wagon, Blanco. It’s time to go.” Without waiting for his brother’s reply, Marcho stepped down and walked hastily to his wife who was chatting with a local farmer’s wife. He gently placed his hand on the small of her back and whispered in her ear, “It’s time.”

“Yes, dear,” Estella smiled brightly at her husband and quickly excused herself from the other woman. The couple marched through the crowd, Marcho nodding to the gentlemen who caught his eye, and Estella calling out her praises to all the folk that were staying behind. As soon as they reached the wagon, Estella stopped short. “Oh, Marcho, just one moment, I must check on father before we go.” Marcho, who thought that they would at last be pulling away from the gate, sunk back in the seat and nodded at his beautiful wife.

After several minutes, Estella returned and Marcho got his wish. He shook the reins, his two mares responded, and the wagon began to roll. The rest of the folk pulled in behind him, and the hobbits began what many years later would be known as the last great hobbit migration.

[Melisil]

Alora was having a very exciting, and slightly confusing day. But she loved it none the less. Her mother and father had told her, on the day of the speech their family had attended, that they were going to leave their home, and that they were going to find a new home. The idea had appealed to Alora immensly at first, but then she was told she would have to leave some of her friends.

This part of leaving, Alora did not like, but Crispin, her brother, had comforted her by telling Alora that some of her friends would be coming too, so it wouldn't be quite so bad. She smiled at that idea.

But today was different. Today they were acually leaving. She was dressed in traveling clothes now, standing in the back of their wagon and holding her greatest treasure, a very old rag doll of hers, in her hand.

She leaned over the side of the cart, "Bye!" she called out to a small group of her friends who were not going. She waved to them as she looked around. Many of the grown-up Hobbits were crying (this puzzled her slightly, as she couldn't tell what was so sad), and many others were saying farewells.

Crispin hopped on to the wagon with her, "Alora, sit down."

Alora obliged, waving one last farewell to her friends, she sat down as their wagon started moving.

[Kransha]

Kalimac Whitfoot sat comfortably in the muddled hay on the cart he had obtained for this trip. It was a beautiful day, contrasting the murky nights of Bree, and Kalimac swelled slightly, breathing in the fresh air. A warm sun shone down on the town, bathing the countless thatched and wooden roofs in beams light. Kalimac scanned the town, looking for the final time at the place which had been his home for all his life. He looked out at the stone-hewn buildings of Bree, all sitting in uniform ranks alongside the unpaved roads. The Halfling’s half-closed eyes, as weary as the rest of him after hefting many of his family’s keepsakes to this gate and placing them carefully in the cart, looked back through the open eastern gate and over the rickety causeway that led out of Bree. The small bridge-like structure led over the sloping dyke that surrounded Bree and out into the world.

He blinked suddenly, squinting as he looked up at the sphere of light. The hobbit wheeled around, knee deep in the hay, and hopped over to the front of the Whitfoot cart. He had taken his most faithful and strong ponies, Staddle and Archet and had them ready for the journey as he was. The two dappled creatures brayed quietly, seemingly conspiring with their muzzles near. Kalimac chuckled under his breath at the though of two horses scheming or gossiping and turned backward again, looking over the hay-filled cart to the onlookers who’d come to see them off.

He recognized many of the folk who’d gathered around, though he didn’t particular care to know those who he hadn’t met. It didn’t matter anyway, considering he would probably never see any of them again. Thankfully, most of the Whitfoot’s close personal friends were hobbits who had decided to join this expedition, so he would not need to feel any guilt about leaving them behind. Unfortunately, there were a few caustic regrets. The most gnawing of annoyances was his son, Crispin’s, loss. He knew that Crispin did not truly consider it a loss, but he knew very little about what his son thought. It was the separation of his family and the family’s of his children’s friends that most burdened him. Some of Crispin’s and Alora’s childhood friends were remaining in Bree, including that of Crispin’s closest friend, Iris. He tried not to let it cause him too much pain. After all, he had made the right, responsible, sensible decision and his family had not in any way opposed that.

‘I’m over-exaggerating anyway,’ thought Kalimac, more contentedly, ‘They are not even that attached to those remaining. They are all as eager to go as I am and they will surely be happy when we reach our destination west of the Baranduin. Marcho and Blanco are competent hobbits and they won’t lead us astray. We can trust them and everything will go well, without a doubt.’

“Is everyone ready back there?” he said over his shoulder as he saw the leading cart, manned by Marcho and Blanco, begin to move. He heard a surprisingly enthusiastic yelp of acknowledgment from Alora, an affirmative call from Elsa, who had just jumped nimbly onto the vehicle after saying heartfelt goodbyes to all her remaining friends in Bree, and not a word from Crispin, which was certainly unsettling. Kalimac had plenty of friends to bid farewell, but he’d already taken care of all those goodbyes. A moment later, Kalimac heard another form mounting the cart and assumed that it was his son. He heard his eldest child’s voice, but it was mostly muffled by the noises of the crowd and the sounds of rolling wheels, clip-clopping horseshoes on the road, and wagon wheels creaking.

Not waiting for a visible response from Crispin, Kalimac goaded the ponies forward and pulled into the slowly moving ranks of carts and wagons that had begun on their path. He could hear his family and many other families yelling final words to those left behind and waving farewell, but he tried not to glance back. The new life lay ahead of him and the other Whitfoots, not behind in the town of Bree.

[rutslegolas]

Henry was playing cards with his sister when his father called him inside the house. The whole family was gathered and all were looking very serious, and then his father had announced that they were moving to the new land beyond the river. Henry hadn't liked that one bit, but nonetheless they were all assembled at the gate ready to leave.

Henry was loth to leave his few precious friends behind and he didn't understand why they should leave their beautiful home.
He could see that most of their family's friends were crying.

But, even though he was angry, he was also excited to see what lay beyond his own town,and he also had one of his best friends coming with him, "My neighbor Bolco is coming too', he reminded himself ,'so it should be fun', he thought.

And waving a last goodbye to his friends he sat in the wagon and looked ahead for he knew that his new life lay ahead in the unknown land and not in his old town.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

My Dearest Prim,

I’m sorry I’ve not written all week, but I’ve not known how to put the news to you. Not in any way that you could take it well, if you get my meaning (but you always could).

You’ll remember in my last note I was telling you about those young Masters Bolger talking a lot of cracked ideas and a-trying to mislead the folk hereabout into leaving Bree for some place in the Wild out past some river called the Brandywine. You’ll never believe it when I tell you that not only did they manage to convince some seemingly-sensible hobbit-folk to go, but they managed to convince almost half the hobbits of Bree to sell out, pack up, and head off for their wild land. I’ve always said that there was something odd about those Bolgers and now I’ve got all the proof I need to show others that I’ve been right!

But now comes the part that you’ll never credit. Our son Harold and his wife have up and decided to join those Bolgers on the road away from all that they’ve known; and them with those two little children and all as well. To tell the truth, I don’t think that our son’s full heart is in the venture, but the Whitfoots didn’t leave him much choice. They’ve sold all our land – even your little side garden – to some of the Big Folk who are going to go about “improving” the land with a couple of ruddy great buildings. Those Big Folk are all alike, and just like their buildings come to think on it: full of gears and clanks what nobody needs. If there is a silver lining to this madcap adventure, it will be that I can settle somewhere far from the likes of them!

But now we come to the hardest part to tell my dear, and I wish more than anything that I didn’t have to do it but – I’m to go with them. At first I said that there was no taking me away from the land, but Harold and Sarah were set for it. They both said that they couldn’t leave me here alone, although how I’d be alone with so many sensible hobbits hereabouts who know better than to abandon their homes… But there I go getting into a fight that lasted most of the week, and doesn’t look to be ending any time soon, neither.

I will write to you from the road my dearest, whenever I have the chance. I hope that you are well and happy. I miss you awfully.

Your husband,

Grim

Fordogrim opened his eyes and looked at the gathering crowd of those who were to leave, and the even larger crowd that had come to see them off. He had to admit, it was a stirring sight. Whole families of hobbits were crammed into their small carts or riding ponies – some were even on foot. Whatever the Bolger boys had hoped for, they would not be getting very far today, or any other day for that matter. Fordogrim snorted in disgust and leaned forward to pat Stout’s neck. “Well my old lad, did you ever think we’d spend our last years mucking about in the fields again?” The pony turned his aged head toward Fordogrim and whinnied lightly. Fordogrim chuckled. “A truer word has never been said my boy.”

He looked over at the cart where his son’s family was gathered and glared at Sarah. He knew who it was who had pushed his son into this, and he would not forget it either. He looked at the two little ones Mayflower and Henry and felt a sudden flush of concern for them on the long road ahead.

A familiar cry from the crowd called his attention back to the present and he turned to see his oldest friend Halfast Headstrong hobbling toward him. Fordogrim smiled warmly at the weathered face of his friend and slid off Stout’s back as nimbly as he could. Halfast puffed up to Fordogrim, speaking as he walked. “I’m so glad I was able to find you in this crowd! I was afraid that you’d all be gone before I could take my farewells.”

“Not much to worry about there Hal. From the looks of things I’d say it will take another week just to get this crowd moving.” But even as he spoke the Bolger boys were putting the final arrangements in order and the hobbits who were bound for the west began to move slowly away from the hill. Fordogrim looked at his old friend and did not know what to say. After a moment he asked, “Has your son decided to go along with us? I didn’t see him here.”

Halfast scowled darkly. “Yes, Fredigar is going with those Bolger boys. He has ideas about organising a ‘proper force of Shirrifs’ in the new land. I told him and told him to stay but he wouldn’t listen to me. Why I may never see him again…” he trailed off, looking at his old friend, and the tears started in his eyes. “Fordogrim,” he began again, “we’ve known each other most our lives, I…” but once more he trailed off.

Fordogrim put on his gruffest expression and said, “There there, Hal, none of that. A short good-bye for a long road.” He paused for a moment before lowering his voice. “There is one thing I would like to ask of you, though. Primrose’s grave will need tending, do you think you could look in on her from time to time?” Hal was only able to reply with a dumb nod. Fordogrim bit back the tears that he felt tickling the edge of his eyes. “All right, then, good. That’s awful decent of you my lad – but I’ve always said you were the solidest hobbit of my experience.” They looked at one another for a long moment, and then silently shook hands.

“Good-bye my old friend,” said Hal. Fordogrim merely nodded. Then, climbing up on Stout joined the slowly moving line of hobbits into the west. The Gate fell away behind them and the hill dwindled into the distance until, finally, it disappeared. And not once did Fordogrim look back.

[Arestevana]

Elsa sighed happily. The caravan of wagons made for a thrilling sight. While the variety of belongings stacked haphazardly in the farm carts had a hurried and unorganized look, the wagons were solid and very sturdy, which she found comforting. She had found it quite upsetting to see their cheerful home empty and bare of furniture, but at the same time it had been immensely exciting.

It seemed that the entire town had come to see the wagons off. It had taken a good deal of time to find her friends in the crowd and to wish them farewell. Some were staying, many were coming. Several ladies Elsa knew who were not leaving Bree had said tearful goodbyes, predicting terrors on the road and pitying her for have to leave. Elsa smiled to herself, remembering how surprised they had been when she told them she wanted to go to the White Downs.

Glancing around her, Elsa noticed yet another acquaintance who was remaining in the town. “Marigold!” She called cheerfully. “Marigold Tunnelly!”
The other turned, caught sight of Elsa, and hurried over. “Oh, Elsa, I was just looking for you!” Marigold informed her friend brightly. “Good luck on your trip! Be sure to write as soon as you get settled!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep in touch.” Elsa assured Marigold, giving her a quick hug.
Marigold nodded, smiling. “I’m sure you will. Hurry now, the Bolger brothers look impatient to go and you’d better make sure Alora and Crispin don’t get left behind!”
Elsa beamed at her friend and hurried off toward the Whitfoot’s wagon. She glanced ahead to where it stood further up the line. She could see Alora already aboard, waving to her friends. Elsa reached the wagon and paused a moment to pat the ponies, Staddle and Archet. Then she gathered up her skirts in one hand and hopped up into the wagon as best she could. She was just in time to hear her husband calling, “Is everybody ready back there?”
“Ready!” Elsa called back merrily. Alora gave an enthusiastic shout from where she stood, leaning out the back of the wagon, waving to her friends. Elsa was about to call for Crispin when he clambered into the wagon. “Sit down,” the boy told his sister gently. Alora sat, and the wagon began to move forward with the rest of the line as Kalimac goaded the ponies into motion.
Elsa leaned out to call last goodbyes to her friends. She watched the land roll slowly by under the heavy wheels of the wagons. The caravan moved slowly, but it was enough that it was moving. She felt a thrill of excitement: they were on their way.

[Regin Hardhammer]

At the gates of the city, Harold took a final look back at the place he had called home. He made sure it was a good look, for he knew it would be his last. When Harold was as old as his father Fordogrim, he hoped to remember the Bree that once was. One thing he could not take with him was his dear mother Primrose whose body lay under the shade of the elm in his garden. Earlier that day, he had visited her grave, although he had been very busy getting ready to leave. As the tears came, he longed to see her face one last time, but she had gone on and he was left behind.

He looked with longing out on the land. Who would tend to the tomatoes, he thought? Who would plow the fields and spread the seeds? In the grey shadows of his mind, he saw the kind land covered over, his crops flattened, everything replaced by a large flour mill.

With a heavy heart, he left the land that he had known since childhood, foresaking the soft green hills for a mysterious wilderness called the White Downs. A knot of anger swelled up in his stomach. The mild-mannered Hobbit felt something snap as he pushed back his protest. What right does anyone have to tell me to leave my home? What difference does it make to the Whitfoots where I work their land? They see the land as property, but I see it as a living thing. Every day I work and tend the land and feel its life. They do not know its blessings or have feelings for it the way I do. They watch me farm their plot and then cut me away from it with a great gardening shears!

Bitter but resigned to his fate, Harold grudgingly set off from Bree. He walked beside his pony Brandy who pulled the family's wagon. Sarah, Henry, and May were piled tightly in the cart, which was laden with all of their meager possessions. Harold had attempted to persuade the Old One to join them, but he refused, insisting to ride on his own pony. Sitting beside Sarah, two hens clucked in their cages. A pair of goats and their prize cow Buttercup trailed along behind the wagon, tied with a sturdy rope. Harold looked at several of his Fallohide neighbors, noticing their carts overflowing with many possessions. Why did they bring all that, he wondered? Yet not a single one had bothered to take a hen or a cow. How did they expect to find eggs and milk for the little lads and lasses?

Before he knew it, the party was off and riding down the road to a strange new world. The land he knew lay behind him; only shadow and uncertainty lurked ahead.

[Witch_Queen]

Setting in the wagon Sarah smiled at the sound of hooves. It all could mean one thing, she was finally going to leave her home and find a new place. One where she could raise her kids and be happy. I will always miss my home. I lived there since the day I was born. All her hopes were beginning to look up as she heard the cow behind them. She had noticed that the others seemed to carry all their belongings. The only thing missing was other animals. "Harold does it seem that we aren't as well prepared like the others. I don't want to get there and find out that we left valuable items behind." Her voice seemed concerned. She had always worried about something. Now it was becoming a headache for her. Sarah was about to ask Harold another question but decided not to. She knew she was a hand full along with the children.

The adventure looked like it was going to be a good one. Her home laid behind her now and there was no turning back. She was finally leaving her home and even though she had no idea what lay ahead she had no real problem with everything now. Sarah quickly shouted back to the people she was leaving behing, "Good bye old friends." Sarah thought she heard her mother calling from behind them.
"Be careful, Sarah and make sure those children stay safe." Sarah began to blush. Even though she was married, Sarah's mother couldn't remind her more of her duties. I know mother, I know.

Sarah was excited about the journey. "We have so much to be thankful for. All that we had made is behind us now. Our lives will never be the same again." Sarah knew she was mumbling. Her words were lost to the wind now. Nothing could make her more cheerful than she was when she was with her family. "Now we can look forward to what we have ahead of us."

[Memory of Trees]

May trudged along, dragging her feet along the path, and sending up clouds of red dust that clung to her dress and skin. She had refused to ride in the cart with the rest of her family. She was too angry by far. I'll never forgive them for this, she thought miserably. Never.

It had all started after the meeting. It was late evening when she arrived home, flushed and breathless from the long walk home from town. She managed to hold her tongue for what seemed like ages, and finally the trip had come up halfway through dinner.

Earlier that day she'd been utterly shocked and stunned to learn that her family would be leaving Bree. Shocked, but unbelievibly happy. For the first time in her life the prospect of a grand adventure lay before her, and she had never experienced anything like it. Maybe they'd even have a chance to get some land of their own so that they didn't always have to be begging at the Whitfoot's door for whatever scraps happened to fall off the table. Maybe there would be a change among the hobbits, a real change, so that the Chubbs and the other Harfoots could come out on a more equal footing with the Fallohide families who always tended to run things.

But the more she heard folk talk, both in her family and others out on the street, the more frustrated and angry she became. It seemed as if no one was really thinking about changing things. Her family was only following the old paths and not thinking about how to make things better so that they'd all have a real chance to follow their dreams. Families like the Whitfoots were still going to get everything they wanted and leave people like herself with the only choice of being servants or poor second cousins.

Sitting at dinner and hearing the Whitfoot name spoken in respectful tones for the thirty-second time that day, May had finally exploded, “Oh, I see. The Whitfoots.” Her jaw was white and trembling. “Of course! Why didn’t I see that before? None of you could possibly get by without your beloved Whitfoots, could you, now? Let’s just follow them, and see if we can be their slaves a little longer, right?”

There was a dead silence at the table and a few mumbled words on the part of her parents about it being nicer to keep the conversation cheerful at dinner.

“Don’t tell me to stop it!” She screamed, angry tears coursing down her face. “It’s not my fault if you want to serve some stuck-up little pigs all your life! Because, well, I don’t! You do whatever you want with your life, but don’t you dare tell me to stop! You’re all so stupid! Can’t you even see?” She was sobbing brokenly now. “This is our one chance, a chance to get out, away from the Whitfoots. A chance to maybe make something of ourselves, but what do you do? You try to keep things the way they’ve always been, us slaving away for them, us doing all the work, with never enough to eat, and I don’t want any part in it. I hate you for your stupidity! I hate you!” She fled the house.

Of course, May’s opinion had done little to change her parents’ minds. So here they were, one week later, with poor old Brandy loaded down with their scant belongings. She hadn’t spoken much to her family all week, except maybe Henry, but he was different. At least he cared about her.

May was surprised at how little tears she shed over their parting - after the initial shock, of course. She was mostly angry. Still, there was little to tie her down here; a few friends, perhaps, and leaving the house had been hard. May was dramatic, but not overly sentimental. And she was still too mad to hurt much.

Grandpa Fordo had told once told her that when you let your heart fill up with too much anger, there is no room for good things, like love, and hope. May wasn’t thinking of that now. Her head was filled with anger as well.

Brandy leaned over and nuzzled her ear with her soft nose. Smiling in spite of herself, May gently shoved the pony’s head away. “Stop that now,” she said in mock annoyance. “You’re tickling me, silly!” The old pony heaved a sigh, and May felt bad that she was having to carry so much. “I’m sorry, old girl,” she whispered into the pony’s fuzzy neck. “I don’t want to come either, you know. I guess we’ll just have to stick this out together!”

Breaking away from the animal, May began to hum quietly as she walked along. People think you have to be happy to sing, she thought. [I]And that’s not true at all. There are all types of music, for when you’re happy or when you are sad, when you’re angry or disappointed, there are songs for every kind of mood. And you always know that music will be there. It can never betray you.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The day wound on toward noon and the grumbling among the hobbits became more and more pointed. Breakfast had, for most of them, been a rushed and all too unsatisfactory affair as they had readied themselves for the journey. Most had expected that there would be a feast – or at the very least a small picnic – at the West Gate to celebrate their adventure, and had been exceedingly disappointed when the Bolger brothers led them away without so much as a dry biscuit. Their hopes had then turned to Second Breakfast and Elevenses, but these also passed without remark from their leaders. As the time for Luncheon approached, the snacks had all been eaten, the picnic baskets emptied and the last of the pocket treats devoured, and more than a few of the hobbits were beginning to wonder if this adventure was such a good idea after all.

Fordogrim followed behind the family cart lost in his own thoughts. Occasionally, Harold would look back to see how his father was doing. Each time he did so, Fordogrim made sure to grimace at his son as darkly as he could, lest he should forget how opposed Fordogrim was to the whole venture. Once, Sarah looked back at him and smiled warmly, but he was not deterred, returning her look with only a scowl. It’s all well and good for you to enjoy yourself, he thought. What about them as had no choice in coming? Prim and I didn’t raise no son who’d a-come along on this crack-brained journey – I know who led him into it.

Of his whole family, only May had expressed any resistance to the idea, and while Fordogrim could not agree with her enthusiasm for the journey, he heartily approved of her fiery outburst against her parents. Indeed, of his children and grandchildren, May held a special place in his heart, for she was probably the most like him. She met his gaze and gave him a grim smile, the best she could manage through her foul mood, which was the perfect match to Fordogrim’s own. He grimaced back at her and felt the odd kind of warmth about his heart that comes only to an extremely angry hobbit who realises that he is not alone in his fury.

Fordogrim’s mood grew worse and worse as they plodded into the west. He did not like things he did not know, and it had taken only an hour of travelling for them to leave behind the landscape he was familiar with. He had, in his youth, travelled extensively to the east of Bree, but the west was like the far side of the moon to him. As the hours moved by without any sign of food or stopping, his mood grew worse. What happened was not really his fault, for it was Stout (Fordogrim was sure) who quickened his pace to bring his old master level with the Bolger boys at the front of the slow moving convoy. For a while, Fordogrim plodded along beside them, looking neither left nor right. When, finally, one of the brothers asked if there were something he wanted, Fordogrim frowned for a moment before responding. “There’s a lot of folk here who aren’t used to a-tracking through the countryside like some others I could name,” he began. “And many more whose stomachs need filling on a more regular basis. Now I don’t pretend to know much about all this – I’ve never been one to decide what’s right for other folk, and I can’t ever recall a-taking it on myself to up and lead hundreds of sensible hobbits into the Wild for reasons about as solid as a morning dew in July, but I do know this: hobbits need food and ponies need rest. Now unless you plan on getting us all to these White Fields or whatever you plan on calling them, before nightfall, I would think that a break might be just about the thing that everyone needs to lift their spirits.” And with that, he lapsed into a monumental silence and stopped Stout in his tracks.

[alaklondewen]

Biting the inside of his cheek, Marcho blinked at the insults thrown at him from the old hobbit, and as the hobbit brought his pony to a standstill, Marcho looked over his shoulder and continued to ride forward. “Do you believe that?” He asked his wife who was covering a smirk with her hand.

“He does have a point, Dear.”

Marcho raised his eyebrow and looked sideways at Estella. “You think I have no sense?”

The sound of Estella’s melodious giggle was enough to raise Marcho’s spirits. Her soft, slender hand gently touched her husband’s arm. “A short break and a meal would be nice.” A tender smile brightened her round face. An audible sigh was the scout’s reply, and he waved a signal to his brother to stop. Marcho pulled the reins and slowly brought his wagon to a halt. The wagons, ponies, and hobbits on foot follow suit and a look of relief was apparent on many of their faces.

Estella rummaged around in the back of the wagon until she pulled out a large basket. “Come Dear, let’s have our lunch with Kalimac. I want to hear how little Alora and Crispin are enjoying the trip so far.”

Marcho nodded and followed her silently. He was glad her family was coming on the road, and he enjoyed their company as well from time to time. They seemed to have sensible heads on their shoulders, which was something Marcho respected.

Estella called out and waved to her brother, and Marcho stepped forward and shook his hand. “How are you holding up?” Marcho asked Kalimac, while Estella bypassed her brother to chat with Elsa.

[ArwenBaggins]

As the ponies pulled to a stop, a smile of relief grazed Crispin's face. He jumped from the wagon before it had even come to a complete stop, landing in the grass.

He sat on a small rock (which he regretted when he had a sore bottom the next day) and waited for the rest of his family to emerge from the wagon with their small meal. He noticed his uncle Marcho approach, so he waved and pushed his annoying hair from his eyes. He drifted out of thought, taking in the surroundings. Instantaneously, he jumped with shock when he thought he heard the name 'Iris'. "Hmmm? Iris?" Alora raised her eyebrow, but shook her head and went on.

"I know I 'eard that name," He searched the group for anyone that could have possibly said Iris. "I shoulda talked to her Papa an' convinced him to come with his family. It would 'ave been a lot more fun than it already is if Iris woulda come. I mean, it's really fun an' all, but Iris woulda made it a whole lot better... she's so pretty..." He stopped when he heard giggles behind him.

A short, pudgy girl was giggling behind him, one hand in the pocket of her calico dress. The other's index finger was pointing directly at Crispin. He looked around, pretending he didn't know who or what she was pointing at. "Aww... 'she's so pretty'!" The Boffin girl laughed and ran off.

"Opal!! Ack...," He rubbed his temples and clenched his fist. Reaching one hand into his pocket, Crispin nodded in acceptance that his slingshot was where it should be. He may have to use it on this journey for things other than hunting.

[Kransha]

Kalimac, as he dismounted rather awkwardly from the wagon, noticed his sister, Estella Bolger, waving at him out of the corner of his eye. More nimbly than usual, he swung down onto the ground, landing roughly, and quickly brushed some clinging hay off of his prized olive-colored vest, one of his prized and more expensive possessions. He headed towards Estella, who heedlessly breezed past him before he could even open his mouth. After craning his neck momentarily to see his sister galloping in the direction of Elsa, he turned back to Marcho Bolger, who took his hand firmly and shook it. He looked for a moment into the eyes of the Bolger before he was addressed.

“How are you holding up?” he said bluntly, letting go of Kalimac’s hand.

The hobbit took a slight step back, neatly picking off the last bits of hay and wagon debris, and looked up at the warm, friendly, and confident expression on his brother-in-law’s face.

“I have been holding up as well as anyone else could upon a trip such as this.” He said, a smile curling over his neutral lips, “To be more specific, I have been holding up well. I have my worries about the children, but they seem just as enthusiastic about this expedition as I, which is certainly a good sign. Elsa seems to be in good spirits, and Alora and Crispin have not said anything negative about the move, though I would’ve expected at least a little resistance from one of them. As you probably know, when one is trying to keep a family thriving, most decisions cannot be agreed upon by all. There always seems to be a little bit of dissonance, but so far I have encountered none. Hopefully, there is none to be encountered at all.”

Kalimac paused, drawing in breath, and his smile faded briefly, but returned as his eyes brightened.

“And what of you, Marcho? Have you been considering what will be put in the multitudes of books that will surely be written about you, the fearless leader of such a harrowing quest?” he joked, swelling minimally and letting a conservative chuckle slip from his composed demeanor. “How have you been holding up on this trip?”

[rutslegolas]

Henry had been sitting in the wagon for hours or for days as he thought,and the break that was announced was a welcome one for he had his breakfast as well as his lunch in the wagon itself,he had from time to time walked beside the wagon which was so slow as he thought.

So at the break he got out of the wagon and strolled around,he wanted to see his friend Bolco but he could not find him anywhere ,he wished he had never come on this trip,but now he could'nt do anything.He had sat wondering when he saw that Lilac,Bolco's sister was standing before him," Hi! there ",she said,"how's you be doing ,I hope you can calm down Bolco beacuse he's very angry."

At the name of Bolco Henry stood up "Where is he ?",he asked.Bolco sister led Henry to him ,Bolco was sitting on the edge of his wagon looking very sulky.Henry approached him and asked"Hey what happened?",Bolco looked at him and said"I dont wanna be here ,Why should we leave home I ask to them and they say because we said so".

Henry understood that 'they' meant Bolco's parents.He explained to Bolco that he too did'nt want to come but "But as we can't do anything",he said,"let us both make this trip merry outing and really Bolco there is no need to sulk."

Saying this they both went to Henry's wagon to have something to eat.

[Witch_Queen]

Sarah turned as she realized that the look Grandpa Chubb gave her was intentional. He's mad at me too? At least Harold isn't like his father. The wind blew in her face pulling down strands of her red hair. Every now and then a strand would fly into her mouth. Sarah was relieved when a break was called. It would give her more time to talk to Harold, who seemed preoccupied.

Sarah fed the chickens some food and went on feeding herself. She had felt as if she hadn' eaten all day. She knew she was in a hurry this morning but to forget to eat was something she wouldn't do. Never in her life had she missed breakfast. The children had something to eat this morning at least. Sarah began looking for her family. Sarah didn't worry about the old hobbit, he could fend for himself. What would Harold say if he knew about my dislike for his father. Grandpa's feelings are mutual. It will be fine, if he doesn't like my judgement then oh well.

Sarah remembered that she was the only one who wanted to go. Everyone else was against her. Majority wins, but in this case it didn't. For some reason Sarah began to feel as if she had done a bad thing for deciding that she wanted to leave home. "Get your wits about you Sarah. The White Downs seems so much better." Sarah knew she was arguing with herself and was bound to loose which ever way you looked at it.

Sarah climbed back onto the cart and sat beside the chickens again. She knew everything would turn out good but she wasn't sure what trouble they would have reaching there new home. "It will be fine my little chickens, hopefully everything will change by the time our journey is complete. We would hate to arrive and still have everyone mad at me." Sarah paused for some reason. "What should you know after all your just two chickens." Sarah began to giggle, which eventually turned into a laugh. "We shall be each others company on this journey."

She heard from somewhere behind her voices. "We better not let anyone hear us," she said in a whisper. Sarah had a smile on her face that didn't want to go away. It seemed to stretch from ear to ear. Sarah wouldn't raise her voice any so that only the chickens could hear her. "Lets not tell anyone about our conversation. They would think me mad." Sarah began to giggle again but kept it in a whisper.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim rode back to his family, humming to himself with smug self-satisfaction. He had seen Marcho’s reaction to his harangue, and he knew that he had got under the self-important little hobbit’s skin. But he had also got his way: the convoy had stopped, and the families all about him were happily stretching their weary limbs, if they had been riding in carts, or throwing themselves onto the comfortable grass to rest, if they had been walking or riding ponies. Everyone was pulling out food and preparing their noonday meal. Very soon, there were more than a few cooking fires crackling away merrily and hot soup and tea was being ladled out to eager hobbit mouths.

Fordogrim was looking forward to a sustaining meal – for, no matter what else he might think of his daughter-in-law, she was one of the finest cooks Fordogrim had ever known, better even than his beloved Prim (even the fancy of a heart-broken hobbit gives way to practicality on the subject of food) – so his disappointment when he got back to the cart could not have been greater. Sarah was sitting in the cart nibbling on some cold lunch that she had brought out for herself. There was no cooking fire, no picnic blanket laid out, not even so much as a simple board thrown across the rails of the cart for a table. Where in the world is that fool son of mine? And what about his children? He glowered at Sarah’s back, as though she were responsible for having left him alone with her. For a moment, he contemplated turning Stout around and heading back up the line of the convoy to where he had seen his Fredigar Headstrong unpacking a delicious looking pie (mushroom pie from the smell of it). Fordogrim knew through happy personal experience the wonders of Mrs. Headstrong’s mushroom pie. Just as he was about to turn Stout around, he caught a slight whisper. Looking hard at Sarah he saw that she was…could she really be?…she was actually talking to the chickens! Fordogrim shook his head in disbelief and thought Has everyone gone cracked? Even in my own family!

At that moment Sarah looked up and saw Fordogrim staring at her. She blushed with embarrassment, knowing that she’d been seen in conversation with the poultry. At first she was at a loss for what to do, or how to recover. Fordogrim took the opportunity to call out to her, as disapprovingly as he could, “Where has that woolly-headed son of mine got to? And what about your children? Have they eaten their Luncheon already?” And what about my Luncheon, anyway? he added to himself.

[alaklondewen]

Marcho snickered at being called the “fearless leader”. The scout was not concerned with his role being recognized in the stories…that was his brother’s wish. Marcho just wanted to live free on his own land.

“How have you been holding up on this trip?” His brother-in-law inquired with a twinkling in his eye.

“Well, to be honest, Kalimac, we haven’t been gone for a full day yet, and the people are already complaining.” Marcho looked over his shoulder at the crotchety old hobbit who had insulted him. A smirk crossed his face as he entertained the idea of sending the old codger over the hill for something and taking back off the down the road. He quickly shook the picture out of his head, and turned back to the stable-master. “Anyway, I’m a bit worried as to how they will handle being out here for the next three weeks or more.” Marcho lowered his voice as he spoke and leaned toward Kalimac so the others would not hear him. “I’m used to being on the road, but most of these folk are not. It is going to be tough on them. I just hope they don’t decide to take their frustration out on me.” The scout chuckled softly and nudged his brother-in-law with his elbow. “I will certainly be sleeping with my knife under my pillow…It looks like the ladies have our meal set.”

Without waiting for a reply, the hobbits strolled to where their wives had placed their food. Marcho had not realized how hungry he was until he smelled the salted meat and dried fruit Estella retrieved from the basket. The hobbit ate silently while he watched the folk around him. Children were playing around the wagons, while their families ate. Voices could be heard singing somewhere toward the back of the group, and a few of the older members were found napping in the backs of carts or in the grass. Marcho was suddenly overwhelmed by the responsibility he had. These fine folk trusted him to lead them well and keep them safe. He hoped he would be able to live up to their expectations.

[Memory of Trees]

May Chubb

May had considered not eating lunch. She knew that if she were going to eat, she would have to eat with her family. May almost reufsed to go talk to her parents, but then thought better of it. The distinct and painful gnawing in her stomach changed her mind; after all, breakfast had been dissapointingly scant and she hadn't eaten much dinner last night.

Not that she regretted her decision - no indeed! Mayflower Chubb had wanted to make a statement, and she had. But she supposed there was no need to starve quite yet.

May approached the cart hesitantly, and her nerve almost gave out when she saw her mother and grandpa sitting in the back of the cart. Her stomach rumbled loudly, and May pressed on.

Standing there with her hand on the edge of the cart, all the resentment she had been feeling washed back over her. Her mother had been terribly unfair about the whole thing! But deep down inside, May knew she wanted to talk to her mother. They had always been close. But of course, that would be impossible.

They were both sitting there, staring at her expectantly. May kept her eyes on the ground. The heat was rising to her face, and she said quickly and quietly, "I want something to eat." She thought then added, "Please?"

She stood there by the cart and waited for her mother's reply.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold Chubb:

With a wide grin on his face, Harold strutted towards the cart to rejoin his family for lunch. He hoped that they had not devoured all of the food, for his stomach growled louder than the noise his father made when he was irritated. Protectively, Harold cradled a small satchel in his arms, a gift for Sarah. Several copper pennies jingled in his pocket, a pleasant sound unfamiliar to his ears.

Harold was very pleased with the business he had just conducted. Few of the Fallohide families had brought cows or chickens with them, and therefore had no milk or eggs. He had sold a dozen eggs to a family of Fallohides who wanted to make a gigantic omelet. He hoped this would help Sarah forgive him for making her sit next to the chickens on the cart and endure their endless clucking.

Even more happily, Harold had enjoyed the good fortune to make an agreement with one of the Tooks to provide milk for the Hobbit’s children for the remainder of the trip. In exchange for this, the wealthy family gave Harold a simple bronze neck band with an azure topaz hanging on the end. It was nothing special to them, but Harold had never before owned such a beautiful thing. It would make a perfect gift for his dear wife Sarah. Sweet Buttercup, you are the best cow a Hobbit could ask for, Harold planted a kiss on Buttercup’s wet nose.

Back in Bree, there had been nothing left over to sell, since any extra crops or milk or eggs automatically went to the Whitfoots to pay for the land which the family farmed. On the trail, he was strangely free, since he no longer had to pay for land. The Whitfoots actually had less of a claim on him. Given this set of circumstances, it seemed prudent to Harold to make some money from his little business before he had to start forking everything over to the Whitfoots again. If he had to go on this worthless trip, he might as well figure out a way to turn a thing or two to his advantage.

Although Harold loved his wife dearly, he still had some doubts as to the wisdom of this particular agreement. Yes a piece of jewelry, even one so simple, would hopefully make his wife happy, but it did not serve any practical purpose. The family had offered him some fine farming tools, but he declined, favoring a gift for his darling Sarah. I could have used the new equipment, thought Harold, but my wife is more precious than all the riches of Middle-Earth. I am sure that she will enjoy the necklace, and her happiness is the greatest gift of all.

Harold reached the wagon and found his daughter, wife, and father already there waiting for him to arrive. Fordogrim and Sarah looked at him inquisitively, as if they were wondering where he had been. May had just asked for food and Sarah was doling out a generous portion.

Harold nodded first to Fordogrim, “Dad I think that what you did was brave, if a bit brash. I do not think that I could have asked Marcho to stop for a break like you did, but I am proud of your courage. "

Then, he turned around to the others. "Family, I have a surprise for all of you. I have been involved in some small business dealings, and, as a result, I have some gifts for you." He smiled at his daughter. "May, here are a few copper pennies---split them with your brother. My lovely wife, Sarah, I hope that you enjoy this gift; it isn’t much but it is the best I could do under the circumstances.” Harold unwrapped the small package and held out the necklace so Sarah could see it. He lifted the necklace over her head and put it around her neck.

A smile spread over his face as he turned to look at his wife, "You are as lovely as the day we met! I've long wanted to get you a necklace and at last I have.....as simple as it is."

Meanwhile, he thought to himself, Sarah and May are as beautiful as any of the Fallohide lasses, yet families like the Whitfoots hog all the fancy jewels and frocks for their wives and daughters. I am considered lucky if I can only earn enough to fill our family's stomachs. Would that things could somehow change! Still, his wife looked beautiful and at that moment, Harold wouldn't have traded that necklace for all the farm equipment in Bree.

The family took their lunches and sat down under a tree, as Sarah spread out a small cloth on the ground.

[Arestevana]

"Careful, Crispin!" Elsa exclaimed, startled, as her son jumped from the moving wagon. She climbed akwardly down as the line slowed to a halt, but Crispin had already darted off. "Oh, I suppose he's fine," Elsa sighed to herself. "Down you come, missy." She offered Alora a hand down. "Oh, it does feel good to get off that wagon. I don't suppose we're there yet, though?" Her husband had shown her a map before they left, but she was poor at evaluating distances, never having traveled much.

Elsa stepped away from the wagon, seeing her sister-in-law, Estella, coming over.
"How was the ride?" Estella asked cheerfully.
Elsa smiled complacently, "Oh, it went well enough, though I imagine I shall soon be sore all over from bumping up and down."
Estella laughed. "Will you and your family lunch with Marcho and me? I've left him somewhere over there, talking to your husband." she waved vaguely over her shoulder.
"Oh, that would be lovely, Estella." Elsa said happily. "I've a lunch basket in the wagon, just let me fetch it."

She retrieved the basket and joined her sister-in-law a short ways off the roadside, spreading cloths on the grass and laying out a small picnic. Estella went to find Marcho and Kalimac, and Elsa called for the children. "Now where have they got to?" she wondered aloud. "It isn't like them to be late for a meal. Oh, dear, I do worry too much." She continued murmuring to herself in this manner until the others arrived.

[Melisil]

Alora jumped off the wagon with slight asistance from her mother, then ran off to explore. She quickly met up with Opal Boffin, a dear friend of hers.

"Hello!" she had said, "I'm going exploring- even though mummy said that this isn't our new home yet. Want to come?" and exploring they went. Opal's brother, Hob, joined them too.

After quite some time exploring and adventure playing, Alora got hungry. After a quick 'see you later!' Alora went to find her mum.

"Are we eating yet?" she said, running up to her mother.

"Soon dear. Can you go find Crispin while you're waiting though? I can't seem to see where he went off to."

Alora nodded, and ran off yet again, this time looking for Crispin. She found him shortly though, and quickly informed him that lunch was ready.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Child's post for a small red fox:

Vixen hid behind the tall oak tree, surprised to glimpse such a long procession of travellers slowly advancing down the road. She had never seen so many two-leggeds gathered in one spot before. She wondered what they could possibly be doing. Her black nose twitched eagerly as she watched the travellers dismount from their ponies and carts, sit down in the grass, and, taking out baskets and dishes overflowing with food, proceed to eat their lunch. In eager anticipation, Vixen cocked her bushy tail, which was the same red-brown as the rest of her coat, but with a little white tip at the end. She flicked it back and forth, anticipating the feast that would soon be forthcoming. The odors were delightful, and soon her stomach had begun to growl.

Vixen did not usually search for food at this particular time of day. She generally preferred to prowl and hunt under cover of darkness or in the very early hours of the morning. But she had a burrow filled with ten hungry kits, and it seemed that they never had enough to eat. She'd spent the morning scavanging for berries and grasses, eating a bit herself and bringing the rest home to her little ones. Now she was looking for meat.

Carefully, she weighed the possibilities. If this had been a band of the Big Folk, discretion would have gotten the better part of valor, and Vixen would never have approached the party in broad daylight. But these were not Big Folk. They looked a bit like Men but also suspiciously like very large rabbits, especially with those prominent hairy feet, none of which were encased in shoes. Vixen couldn't quite make up her mind what to do. But soon the drifting aroma of dried and roasted meats became too overpowering to resist.

She picked out a family near the end of the procession. They were seated on the ground eating their lunch. There were some lively hens in the cart, all cooped up in a box. Vixen wished she could undo the latch and let the chickens out but that didn't seem like a practical idea. Then she saw it: a lovely roast chicken sitting inside a basket right on the front seat of the cart. The little rabbit folk had apparently set it aside to eat later, perhaps for supper or tea. No one was paying the slightest attention to the cart. When these Little Folk ate, they gave it their all and were oblivious to the rest of the world.

Vixen took a mouthful of air and made a dash forward, scurrying towards the cart on four black legs as speedily as she could. With a single leap, she landed on top of the chicken coop, just when the two hens began to cluck and flap their wings. Springing off the coop and onto the seat, she stuck her twitching black nose into the picnic basket, and was rewarded for her efforts with a fine roast chicken. Several of the rabbit folk eating lunch suddenly began to shriek and one came forward carrying a stick. Vixen skillfully twisted her body to evade the assault and, holding the prized chicken in her mouth, again landed on the ground, barrelling forward and evading everyone who tried to chase her.

The last thing she remembered was scampering over another set of cloths that had also been spread out on the ground; these belonged to another family who apparently called themselves the "Whitfoots". In her haste to escape, Vixen ploughed into a large pitcher of apple cider. The cider spread over the cloth, quickly submerging the rest of the food. Vixen's small paws triumphantly trampled on the remains of the lunch as she made a beeline for the edge of the road, disappearing into a grove of bracken and a tangled thicket of thornbushes.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim ate his Luncheon in silence, as he did not know what to say. Harold’s praise of his “bravery” in standing up to Marcho had pleased him, but he knew better than to show any real pleasure at the compliment. He had merely grunted that “someone had to make that crack-brain see some sense at least once a day” and settled down to the important business of eating his meal. May sat beside him in an equally quiet mood, and Fordogrim wished that he and she could have some time alone to talk things over. He had been distressed to see her making amends with Sarah, for if she became reconciled to this trip then Fordogrim would have no real allies left! He had begun to realise, however, that her opposition to the trip was not really founded on any great desire to stay in Bree – quite the reverse. It was simply that May, like her father, resented the Whitfoots for forcing them to move. This reaction baffled Fordogrim. He neither liked nor disliked the Whitfoots, as he had long ago come to regard the family that owned his land as a force of nature rather than as individuals. One did not get angry with the frost that destroyed the early fruit buds, or rail against an untimely thunderstorm during the harvest. All one could do was accept the fact of inclemency and move forward.

The necklace that Harold had acquired for Sarah had been an eye-opener, and Fordogrim had made a mental note to mention it to Prim in his next letter. He had never really thought of his son as being a sharp wit with money, but then, there had never really been a lot of money to be sharp with. Fordogrim watched his son as they ate and noted how Harold kept looking at his wife with the kind of feeling that was only a memory for Fordogrim now. As he watched them, Sarah moved her head to one side and pulled a strand of hair from the corner of her mouth. Fordogrim’s heart almost stopped – for in that movement she looked almost exactly like Primrose. Fordogrim’s eyes grew wide as he looked at Sarah. Had her eyes always been that shade? And her nose, the shape of it was the image of Fordogrim’s beloved wife. . . Unlocked by that single gesture, it was as though he were looking at his daughter-in-law for the first time. How could he have missed it before? The resemblances were few, and subtle, but definite. Fordogrim shook his head to clear his mind of such fancies. In an attempt to regain his equilibrium he said, to no-one in particular, “A nice necklace is a fine thing, but there’s other things that’s needed for a trip like this.”

Harold looked up at his father with the closest thing to anger that his mild spirit could allow, and Fordogrim saw a sharp retort forming on his son’s lips. But then May let out a yell and pointed at the cart where a daring vixen was attempting to steal their chickens! Fordogrim roared with the fury that comes only to a hobbit who sees his provender threatened and, with a speed and agility that belied his age, rose to his feet brandishing his cane. The vixen emerged from the cart with one of Sarah’s deliciously roasted chickens in its mouth and raced off toward the brush. Fordogrim aimed a blow at its head that missed by only a whisker. He whirled in his anger to dash the cane down again, but his foot caught on a tussock and he stumbled backwards, teetered for a moment on the edge of balance, before falling backward into a small hedge.

[Witch_Queen]

Sarah watched as Grandpa Chubb attempted to shoot the vixen but only missed. Sarah felt bad when he fell into the bushes. She thought she heard a snicker from behind her but only turned to see May and Harold starring in disbelief. "Grandpa are you okay?" Sarah rushed over to help him up being followed by Harold. If I ever see that blasted vixen again I will make sure it doesn't steal someone elses food. Sarah knew she had lost her roasted ham but didn't know why the animal didn't leave them alone. She had always thought vixen were afraid of people. She remembered that hobbits didn't really look like grown men, instead they could be taken as children. Now I wish I hadn't of decided to come on this journey. We should have stayed at home.

After they had helped Fordogrim up she placed her hand over the necklace. It had been a long time since she was given something so beautiful. Sarah loved it and knew that she should find something for Harold but she didn't know what to give her dear husband. "It seems that we won't be having the chicken for later. I spent so much time cooking it too." Sarah wanted to fall down into tears, but she didn't. It was only a chicken, don't worry about it. There will be other chickens at another time. Her hard work was taken away from her so fast. Sarah walked back to the cart to see what else might be missing. Everything was there. The chickens were still clucking and everything else was in order it appeared.

"So friends it seems that you get to stay a little longer. That vixen was about to carry you away too. We have Grandpa Chubb to thank for that. Yes that dirty mean vixen was going to take you away and eat you." Sarah thought she saw the chickens eyes grow bigger but decided that she was just seeing things. Sarah turned around to face her family, everyone was there except Henry. Everything was better until the vixen came into the picture. Sarah began to slowly walk back over to where her family was at. Grandpa was talking about how he could have gotten the vixen. May it seemed was fascinated by the excuses of why he missed. Sarah giggled and sat down to finish what little food she had left on her plate. This meal isn't as grand as the others I have prepared. Lets just hope the journey is over quickly and we don't encounter anothe vixen.

[Memory of Trees]

Mayflower

Back in the cart, after the fox incident, May had gotten her luncheon. It bothered her how much speaking to her mother had seemed like forgiveness, because that wasn’t the case at all. May was still angry – furious, more like. She knew she had lost ground by doing that, but it was too late now, she supposed.

And then there was the whole scene with the coins. It was a little distressing that her father was being so nice, but May didn't let it get to her. She intended to finish what she had started.

As she sat there in the cart chewing her ham and bread, May was beginning to suspect her grandfather, oddly enough, approved of her sulky mood. That bothered her more than anything else that had happened thus far. There is nothing as annoying as being enraged at someone only to find that they enjoy seeing you angry. After all, didn’t her grandpa have a say in the family decisions? “He should have stopped them,” she thought sourly, her face twisting in disgust. She could almost feel his pleasure growing as she became more and more sullen. There was no way to win. The angrier she became, the more Grandpa Forgo seemed to like it, and the more he liked it, the angrier she became.

Oh well – if you can’t beat them, befriend them.

May scooted a bit closer to her grandfather. He looked extraordinarily grumpy. Extraordinarily for a normal hobbit, that is. Grandpa’s always been a bit moody, she realized. She had never noticed that much, really. Grandpa Forgo was just Grandpa Forgo. May looked up at the old man, then flashed a small grin. Not a happy smile. An I’m-on-your-side smile, and for one tiny second May thought she saw her grandpa smile back. Grimace. Whatever

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold Chubb:

Harold leapt to his feet as the bushy tailed vixen escaped with the family’s roast chicken and trampled over the Whitfoot’s lunch, speedily disappearing into the underbrush. Grandpa Fordo had taken a tumble in his pursuit of the thief, and was just getting up with help from other members of the family.

Harold cursed the culprit, remembering all the hard work that he had put into raising the chicken. He recalled how he'd arisen early to feed it each day and protected it from predators like the vixen. All of his work was for naught, as the chicken he had raised from an egg disappeared into the forest.

The Hobbit vowed that he would keep a sharper eye on his possessions in the future. No one was going to take anything from him without his consent. He had worked hard for everything he had managed to scrape together for his family. He would not let anyone, Whitfoot or wild beast, take away his animals and belongings, those things that rightly belonged to his family, without putting up a fight.

[alaklondewen]

Marcho had pulled out his roughly sketched map at the request of Ponto Bracegirdle, and now several of the gentlehobbits stood over the parchment while the scout traced the expected route with his finger.

“We will be out of these hills by late this afternoon, and we’ll set our first camp around here. The forest should provide some protection from the wind which will be stronger once we walk on flatter terrain.” The other hobbits hung on to each of Marcho’s words, and they nodded in agreement as though each of them had traveled the distance many times in the past.

“Well, I heard that forest is bit strange, even a little eerie,” Fredigar Headstrong, who is never confused by the facts, squinted and leaned toward Marcho in an almost accusatory fashion. “Well, is it? You ain’t leadin’ us into some kind of unnatural place, are you?”

“That’s nonsense, Fred…I’ve been through this area more times than I can count on my fingers, and there is nothing…unnatural about that forest.” As he spoke, Marcho kept his eyes lowered onto the map. When he did raise his head to meet the Headstrong hobbit’s gaze, he wore a smirk. “Why Freddy boy, I think you’ve been listening to too many child’s stories.” The other hobbits chuckled and poked fun at Fredigar until he turned crimson. Marcho, in the meantime, carefully folded his map and tucked it safely into his pack. “Time’s a-wasting, fellas. Let’s get back on the road.”

Picking up his pack, the middle-aged hobbit strode the center of the band and blew a shrill whistle through his teeth. “We have a long road ahead of us…Keep your packs and baskets close for we will not stop until our camp tonight.” The last of his words caused many of the travelers to groan and loudly complain. Marcho held his hands up as a signal for silence. “I understand you are tired, but we must keep moving as long as we can.”

With that, the scout turned from his followers and helped his wife gather the lunch supplies. Everyone did the same and soon the band was moving slowing up the road. Estella tried to keep spirits high as she sang sweetly from the front of the wagon. Several others riding close behind joined her. Marcho just kept quiet with his eyes on the road, a silent grin had replaced the stern frown that had been there earlier, and before he knew it, his foot was tapping with the rhythm.

[Kransha]

Kalimac sat back on the wagon, letting his firm hold on Staddle and Archet’s reins slip slightly as he relaxed, listening to the calming melody that hailed from Estella, just up ahead. He had always known she had a sweet voice about her, ever since their childhood and he knew that it could be the perfect tool to spread a needed tranquility over the group. Unfortunately, Kalimac himself was not tranquilized but the soothing tune, since his inner tension had been elevated to recently for it to be satiated so easily.

‘What did he mean, ‘unnatural place?’’ thought the gentlehobbit, leaning back on the hay-soaked cart seat and letting his clenched fists that held the reins fall into his lap wearily, ‘There are plenty of tales to be told of that old wood, but as Marcho said, they’re all fables, children’s stories, not something to actually be heeded by sensible elder hobbits.’ Kalimac’s brow was now furrowing, though he did not let his obvious concern show outwardly. Being a Halfling so knowledgeable in tales of lore, he knew almost all of the wispy little tales about those things that lurked in the dark woodlands, hiding in the gnarled branches of ancient trees.

He leaned back further, craning his neck and stretching his arm back into the hay. After a second of groping about, he came across the smooth texture of his oaken bow, delicately placed near him. If he needed it he would use it, though he would prefer not to. The hobbit knew that this trek was not meant to be a simple matter, but he did not want the journey to become wrought with catastrophe. There had already been one incident, although not a very catastrophic one. That kleptomaniac fox had only succeeded in thoroughly soaking a few vests and undershirts, no real damage done to anyone or anything, except the clothes that had been laid out on the ground.

At the moment, Kalimac was most worried about his children. Crispin and Alora had not yet questioned him yet, or opposed this journey, or even gotten out of hand in the least, but he was worrying now that he could not keep as careful track of them as he’d hoped. After the incident with the fox, Kalimac came to the annoying realization that things would not be perfect on the road and he couldn’t keep his eyes on Elsa, Alora, and Crispin all. He was going to need some help, someone he could trust.

“Elsa, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” He said almost curtly to his wife, who was sitting just behind him on the cart, nestled comfortably into the hay, “We have, I assume, a very long trip ahead of us all. I was thinking recently about Alora and Crispin, and came to the conclusion that we cannot keep track of them both every waking moment.” He didn’t notice that Elsa was about to say something and continued, regardless, “They are good children and not hard to handle, but we are getting on in years and they still have all the energy of youth to elude us, even if that is not their intent. I believe we need some other person or persons to keep an eye on them, to keep them from any undesirable situations on this journey. It is my opinion that we require younger folk to do such a thing for us, and perhaps the Chubb children, May and Henry, could handle such an assignment.” He took a breath, slowly narrating his oration to a close with the question he’d meant to ask from the beginning, “My question is, very simply, would you be entirely adverse to having May and Henry Chubb watch our children?”

[Arestevana]

Elsa grimaced as the wagon bounced over an uneven patch of road. She shifted slightly in her seat to peer to the back of the wagon where the children sat, not being entirely able to quell the fear that one of them might have fallen out since she last checked. After all, it had been a rather bumpy five minutes.

Turning back around, Elsa turned her attention to Estella's sweet voice as it drifted back from the wagon just ahead. She was singing an old walking song, and it seemed to be having a very calming affect on the whole caravan. Elsa hummed along under her breath, having forgotten the words. Belatedly recalling the verse, Elsa pondered it quietly as the Estella began a festive melody that soon had those near her singing along.

The bright dawn approaches, the springtime sunrise,
As safe in sweet slumber my family lies,
While I go a-walking to farewell the night,
And greet on returning the clear morning light.

Elsa turned to peer over her shoulder again, regretting that her family was not as safe as the words of the song suggested. She straightened after assuring herself that both Crispin and Alora were still in the wagon. "Elsa," Kalimac said suddenly. "I've been meaning to ask you somthing." Elsa listened, becoming aware as he spoke that he, like her, was worrying about Alora and Crispin. She opened her mouth to speak, the thought better of it. As her husband outlined his idea to have younger folk watch out for the children, Elsa nodded enthusiastically, seeing the wisdom in his idea.

"Perhaps the Chubb children, May and Henry, could handle such an assignment. My question is, very simply, would you be entirely adverse to having May and Henry Chubb watch our children?” Kalimac finished, turning to see her responce. Elsa closed her mouth sharply, aware that she had been gaping.

May and Henry Chubb? But Kal, they're tweens! she protested silently. Tweens watching after our children? Why, May and Henry are practically children themselves... they'd be a bad influence on Alora and Crispin. Then another realization hit her. Oh no! Kal, you mean without...away... letting someone else take care of my babies?

Elsa opened and closed her mouth soundlessly, jarring her teeth when a particularly large bump caught her with her mouth open. She turned automatically to see if the children were alright. When she realized what she'd done, she forced herself to rethink the situation. Alora and Crispin weren't babies, they didn't need her constant attention. May and Henry were well-behaved and responsible, they would watch out for the younger children.

Finally Elsa turned to face Kalimac, forcing a strained smile. "You're right, of course, dear." she admitted reluctantly. "It's an excellent idea. I'm not at all opposed to it. Well, perhaps just a little." She amended, seeing his slight smile. He knew her too well to believe that. She leaned back into her seat and by a great effort managed to keep from turning around to check on the children. Sighing, she wondered what she had gotten herself into.

[Kransha]

Kalimac waited patiently for an adequate response from his wife. He saw a thin smile peel over her features, but he could tell that it was not entirely genuine. Elsa always had issues like this concerning the children. Unlike Kalimac, she was comparatively more over-protective of them. The gentlehobbit of Bree didn’t mind this, since her brimming care and concern for the Whitfoot offspring allowed him to concentrate on other things. It would, though, be good for her to learn that she, like Kalimac, could not keep both eyes keenly set on their children every hour of the day. Kalimac hoped she would not oppose his decision, considering what a breath if fresh air that situation would be for the both of them. Finally, she spoke, “You’re right, of course, dear. It’s an excellent idea. I’m not opposed to it. Well, perhaps just a little.” Her smile became more real as a grin crept onto Kalimac’s face as well. He turned back briefly to Staddle and Archet, who again seemed to be whispering to each other like a pair of gossiping housewives. A look of bewilderment came upon his face as he looked at their strange conspiring, but then his look returned to relieved satisfaction as he looked back at Elsa, the smile returning to him.

“I’m glad you agree, Elsa. When we set up camp I will approach the Chubbs about it.” He saw a lingering look of doubt on her face, which he’d expected. He turned fully to her, holding reins firmly, and said, “Do not worry about the children, dear, May and Henry Chubb may still be but tweens themselves, but they are responsible tweens,” he added, under his breath, “Or at least Harold told me they were responsible.”

He spoke up again, “In any case, Crispin and Alora are not so hard to keep track of…Alright, I suppose that’s not really true, but that’s the point of choosing May and Henry to watch them. They are children just like Crispin and Alora so they have the required energy and youth to keep up with them at all times. I am sure we can trust them not to do anything rash while caring for our children.”

Kalimac wondered for a moment at what he’d just said. For some reason, he was starting to see why his wife might frown upon the idea if she did at all. Yes, Mayflower and Henry Chubb were responsible youths, but could they really be trusted with the safeguarding of two younger children? Kalimac sighed and turned back to Staddle and Archet. As he fixed his narrowed eyes on the horses they almost seemed to take notice and promptly stopped their whispering and returned to thinking about whatever horses think about when they're pulling carts.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim winced as Stout stumbled on a rock, jarring the old hobbit’s gammy leg. Sarah had been full of concern for him after his tumble into the briars, but he hadn’t told her what the fall had done to his leg. It had hurt, on and off, for almost twenty years now, but always it had been a dull ache – not like this. Sharp spasms of pain went from his hip to his foot every time he was jarred suddenly, some of them strongly enough to make him catch his breath. He shifted in his saddle as Stout looked back at him apologetically. He patted the pony’s neck in forgiveness and smiled at the little fellow’s snicker of joy. Fordogrim liked being old – as it gave him a certain leeway in the expression of his ideas, if not always the respect that he deserved – but he did not like for other hobbits to think of him as being old. So he kept to himself the information that a slight stumble had rendered him virtually unable to walk. It didn’t matter, Stout would be able to bear him on this journey.

At his side walked May. She had been sticking close to him ever since Luncheon and he could tell that she was doing so out of a sense of solidarity. He was glad for her company on the road, for among all of his family she had the most hobbit sense. They chatted amicably of the lands they were passing through, as neither of them had been this way. May asked if Fordogrim knew anything of where they would be stopping for the night, for rumors had been passing up and down the convoy ever since the Bolgers had called a brief meeting. Fordogrim called out to Fredigar Headstrong who was riding just ahead of them. “Hoy there, Fredigar! Come back here and tells us what you’ve heard from the Big Leaders about where we’re headed!” Fredigar fell in beside May and Fordogrim and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Well I was asking that same question myself to Marcho, as I’ve heard some awful queer tales about those woods, awful queer. 'You ain’t leadin’ us into some kind of unnatural place?' I asked him. But he just looks about, not meeting my eyes mind, and mumbles at me that I’ve been listening to too many children’s tales. Well, there’s a lot more truth in children’s stories than I think some are willing to let on! And I’ve heard some awfully queer tales about those woods. Awful queer.”

Fordogrim and May merely nodded gravely at Fredigar’s narration. After a few more polite words, Fred moved back to his place in the convoy. May could not help but laugh aloud at the fellow’s manner, but Fordogrim spoke sharply to her. “You’d best not be a-laughing at that fellow’s worries, lass. He’s a soft-headed fellow, that’s sure, but his heart’s as strong as his head isn’t, and not easily scared. If he’s got concerns about this here woods, then we’d best be looking out for it ourselves!” He saw May’s face grow sullen once more, and he immediately regretted his tone. The poor lass! he thought, she’s no more desire to be here than I, and she’s had nothing but harsh words for and from her parents about this for days! And there I go a-sharping it with her, when she’s been so good to stick by her old Grandpa. Fordogrim softened his expression and smiled at May reassuringly, “There, there, lass – you’re a stout girl with a stout heart and I’ve no doubt there’s nothing on this Road that will cause you worry or grief, so don’t listen to the worries of an old hobbit like me. It’s not what’s ahead that’s on your mind, but what’s behind, so to speak. I know you’re not happy about this, and, well, you know my views…so if you want to talk about how you’re feeling, well…I’m not going anywhere.” Fordogrim laughed. “Well, I am a-going somewhere, which is both the point and the problem, ennit? What I means to say, lass, is my ear’s as ready to listen as your heart is ready to speak.”

[Memory of Trees]

May Chubb

May had not at all been expecting that from her grandfather. For a moment she longed try and explain exactly what she was feeling, but then, she’d already done that back in Bree. It wouldn’t do anybody any good to start whining now, she supposed. May kept her eyes on the ground. “I’m alright, Grandpa,” she said with as much cheer as she could muster, but behind her long lashes tears pricked her eyes.

Her grandfather stopped, and gently cupped her chin in his hands. “Look at me, May,” he said very softly. “Are you sure you’re alright? There’s nothing you want to talk about?”

Mayflower swallowed hard before meeting Grandpa Forgo’s steady gaze. “No, I’m okay,” she replied, forcing a small smile.

He looked at her skeptically, then turned back to the road. He was silent for a long moment, then said in a tender voice she had never heard him use before, “May, you know that if you ever need anything, I’m here for you.” Then, without turning to look at her, he spurred his pony on up the road.

May watched him ride on ahead, and the tears that had refused to fall all this long while came hard and fast. “I know that, Grandpa,” she whispered. “I know.”

[Witch_Queen]

Sarah sat beside the chickens listening to their constant clucking. She thought if she stayed beside them any longer she was going to go mad. She had already decided that her conversation with the chickens earlier was something she needed to forget. Sarah thought she heard someone crying until she turned to see May in tears. She wanted to comfort her daughter, but they had grown apart since the journey began. "Even though she talked to me about us leaving earlier and how it had upset her, I know she still has a bit of anger somewheres inside her." She knew she was talking to herself but if anyone had overheard her that would have thought she was talking to the chickens. Sarah thought about how everything was back at home and how her family had gotten along. Though she often wondered why Grandpa had a dislike for her.

Sarah placed her hand over the necklace Harold had given her. She smiled and turned to see where the trail would lead them. She was ready to make camp especially since that meant she didn't have to ride beside the chickens for the rest of the day. A rest was needed even though she knew it was only a thought. "Harold!" Sarah cried, "Whats going on now?" She looked ahead and saw that the land looked beautiful to her. It no longer seemed different, only a day away from home and she was already thinking about what life would be like when the journey had ended. It will be wonderful, we can raise more chickens and perhaps maybe the family won't have as much trouble as we had so far.

She sat back and enjoyed the rest of the days journey. Sarah placed the few pieces of fallen hair back behind her ear. Everything will be better, in the end.

[Melisil]

Alora dangled her feet over the side of the wagon as they rode, she found it terribly fun going over all the bumps and jolts.

Lunch had been delicious, and surprisingly fun as a fox had first run through their picnic, spilling cider all over their clothes and food, and then there was the fact that old 'Mr. Chubb', as she had been instructed to call him, had tried to shoot the strange creature. He had missed and fallen into a large bramble of bushes. She had found this very funny, despite being scolded for laughing.

Now as she sat kicking her feet she listened to her aunt singing. It was a lovely song, she thought. She also heard her mum and dad speaking to each other. Alora both hated, and loved it when her parents did this.

She loved it because it was strangly comforting, but hated it because no matter how hard she tried, she could never hear all of what they were talking about.

[ArwenBaggins]

"Alora, stop bein' nosey," Crispin lifted his head from its comfortable position in the hay and looked at his younger sister. Seeing her not watch their parents any more, he lay back down and placed his head in the endenture of the hay he had made.

He feet dangled over the edge of the wagon and dragged in the rocky dirt. Crispin paid no heed, however; he kept his gaze to the bright sky and a smile on his face.

"Um... Crispin?" Suddenly he was jolted out of thought when a pretty young hobbit lass swung herself over the side of the cart and landed next to him. He raised an eyebrow, but she scooted closer and draped her feet from the wagon as well. "Oh... sorry," She blushed and looked away. "Mam and Papa are havin' a fight... Opal and Hob almost got run over after the break. Papa's not all concerned, but Mam! Oh, she's cryin' 'er eyes out over her "little babies bein' almost squashed"."

Crispin laughed and bit and stuck a piece of dirty hay in his mouth. "Well, if she's gettin' worked up over somethin' like that Daisy, you're gonna be spendin' a lotta time with me!" He chuckled again.

Daisy laughed slightly and blushed again, mumbling something about 'wanting to' under her breath. "Yes... well... bye," She jumped from the back of the wagon and ran into the dust.

The boy shrugged and made himself comfortable again. "Women...," He laughed plainly, listening to the sounds of adventure.

[alaklondewen]

As the longs hours of the day wore thin, the hills also became smaller and farther apart. The troop of settlers bumped along the road in their wagons or carts, some rode ponies, while others braved the journey on foot. For the last three hours the hobbits could see the great old forest looming ahead of them. The tops of the old trees were still lit, if not for long, by the waning sun, but under their boughs only shadows played. The merry voices that had once been singing of safety and joy were now silent as the travelers came slowly down the last slope. On their right, the embankments rose steadily creating the North Downs, and on the left, the great trees reached almost to the road. They were to trudge on between the two heights on a small road that to some looked like a long, dimly lit corridor that curved around the trees and out of sight.

Marcho handed the reins over to Estella so he could jog ahead a short distance to look over the area. Just ahead was a spot where the trees were back away from the road and the grass was worn thin most likely by other scouts and travelers who used the location for a campsite. It appeared someone had been there in the last day. A heap of ashes laid in the large pit dug in the center of the site. The pit was lined with a circle of large round stones.

Marcho knelt close to the ground around the fire pit. Scattered footprints were slightly muddled, but it was clear that the feet to which they belonged were shoed. With most of the day’s light gone it was difficult to be sure, but by the size and shape of the prints, Marcho guessed that two, maybe three, Big Folk had cooked and rested here. This did not surprise the hobbit because he knew of a small village of Big Folk just up the road and over a hill.

The band was approaching, so Marcho stepped in front of their path waving his arms vigorously over his head. The convoy came to a halt, and the scout directed those with wagons and carts to pull their vehicles around and form a semi-circle surrounding the clearing. This would provide them with a sort of protection from that side of the country…the forest would lend itself as a shelter from behind.

“This will be our camp for tonight.” Marcho called to the settlers. “Tonight we will build a communal fire and share and fellowship for the first time on our trip. We will need water from the small stream across the road, and we will need firewood, enough to last the night. I will not be able to carry it all myself, so I need extra arms. Who will go into the forest with me to gather the timber?”

“I’ll give a hand, Marcho.” Kalimac Whitfoot stepped over and laid his hand on his brother-in-law’s shoulder.

“You won’t catch me within twenty feet of that…queer woods!” Marcho shook his head at Fredigar, who had stepped out of the group with his arms folded across his chest.

“Alright then, anyone more courageous than our valiant Fred? We must have fire for the night will grow cold.”

“You can count me in!” In stepped Sarah Chubb who looked sideways at Fred as she strode toward Marcho. Several chuckles were heard from the crowd and Fredigar huffed back to his wagon, clearly outraged by the suggestion that this female participant was braver than he. He still did not volunteer, only mumbling to himself and kicking some rocks around in his anger.

Sarah’s husband silently joined the group along with three other stout hobbits. The scout turned toward the wood, letting the others follow close behind. The hobbits could barely see as they stepped under the eaves of the great trees. The forest was filled with an eerie silence.

[alaklondewen]

Child's descriptive/informative post regarding the forest:


Deputy Fredigar stood and stared in dismay as he watched the small band of Hobbits advancing towards the line of trees until they had completely disappeared under the grey shadows of the tangled thicket. Fredigar grimaced and turned towards Ponto Bracegirdle, a younger hobbit of a generally timid disposition when it came to any type of adventure.

Shaking his head in disapproval, the Deputy again kicked at the bracken and shook his head in disapproval. "No good will come of this.... Mark my words! The Dúnedain tell tales of this forest that would cause a reasonable man to quake."

"Are they true, do you think? The stories, I mean... For I have heard them too at the knee of my nursemaid when I was but a tiny lad."

"There is some truth in the tales. It is not only the trees themselves, although they do not help things. For it is said that in some places the great forest can actually move, twisting and tangling the pathways on which the weary traveller walks. But there are shadows on the land of other twisted things, both the men of the North and the agents of the Witch King. The great power in Angmar has battered at these hills for hundreds of years, sending out all type of hideous creatures to try and do his will. But even among the Dúnedain, things have not been well. The men of the northern kingdom sometimes fight among themselves and argue who will control the land that runs westward from the Weather Hills."

Ponto scowled to hear such a grim description of the woods into which his friends had disappeared. He turned toward Fredigar and sighed, "Let us hope then that Marcho has decided on the right thing, and all those he's taken with him will all return to camp."

Then the two Hobbits went back to their wagons, and began taking out their bedrolls and other things that they would need to set up camp that night.

***********************************************

The long shadows of evening had now settled over the land, casting a dreary pall over the small band of hobbits as they proceeded warily through the trees. Only a few slivers of moonlight shown down from the sky. Since there was no sign of any real path, the Hobbits had to cut and whack their way through the tangled brush, looking for an open glade where they would have enough room to wield an axe and gather the limbs and smaller branches that they needed for the campfire. But the trees were becoming darker and thicker the further they ventured from the road.

Regin leaned over and whispered to his wife, "Let's be glad that we have the road to travel on during the day. For, to tell the truth, if we had to make our way through these trees to reach where we are going, I think I would have turned about and run all the way back to Bree, no matter what the Whitfoots chose to do!"

At that moment a gnarled grey root popped up from nowhere in front of Regin, and sent him sprawling to the ground. As Sarah helped him up, he scowled blankly ahead and wished that he was still back home in the safety of his house in Breeland. Even the jangling coins in his pocket and the promise of more to come did little to lift his spirits when faced with the implacable wall of trees.

[Kransha]

Kalimac’s eyes narrowed once again, darting back and forth with the slightest bit of nervousness in them. He did not care for the unsubstantiated remarks made about this forest’s lurking darkness, but as he entered it with the others its imposing qualities became blatantly obvious. Kalimac’s hand inched towards his bow, which hung at his back, ready for immediate use. He knew this was the best opportunity he would get to speak with Harold away from his wife and children. He was wary, though, duly noting the presence of Harold’s wife, but the fact did not deter him. The hobbit would simply take Harold aside for a moment and tell him the idea. Surely, Harold, being a reasonable Harfoot, would agree with out a second thought and all would be well. A smile peeled over Kalimac’s face as he considered how much time he would now be able to spend with his more trivial habits. His expression changed again, reverting to his unsure frown as he glanced upward at the trees.

Night’s cloak had begun casting a shady spell on the sky. The sun drifted beneath the horizon, bathing the sky around it in a calming, if not somewhat unsettling shade of red. The rest of the great expanse was darkening and that darkness did not help Kalimac’s mood. He was soon surrounded, as everyone else was, by the gnarled and aged branches of great trees that would loom even above Big Folk. The gargantuan tree limbs seemed to be groping out at passing travelers with their malformed talons. The group began to wander more, seeming less and less like they had a set destination. Marcho was at the head of the posse, while Kalimac and Harold Chubb had drifted unnoticed to the back. This was the time and Kalimac Whitfoot knew it. He sidestepped, inching closer to the Harfoot. He leaned over and spoke through one side of his half-open mouth.

“Harold,” said the hobbit conspiratorially, nearly whispering, “I must discuss something with you.”

As he had planned, Kalimac did not give the Harfoot a chance to respond before he clamped a hand onto the other hobbit’s shoulder and stopped the two of them firmly in their tracks. Trying to avoid looking too serious, he spun to face Harold as the rest of the group slowed and began to survey the surrounding woods for necessary timber.

“I have a proposition for you,” he continued, “and I believe you will not object. I was thinking about this trip, as I’m sure you have been as well, and came upon a welcome revelation. You and I are both sound hobbits of sense and cannot be tied down with trivial things such as keeping a wary eye upon our offspring. I have figured out a solution to this problem for the two of us. Perhaps, your young ones, May and Henry, could keep the aforementioned eye on my children, Alora and Crispin. Alora and Crispin must be watched and the exercise will give May and Henry something to do in the surplus hours of this journey.”

He paused, hesitating to allow Harold some leeway to speak. Unfortunately, his tongue got the better of him and he ended up diving right back in to conversation before Harold, who looked strangely pensive, could voice his side.

“Of course, you would have to talk this over with your children and you wife. The plan is sound, though, and efficient. What do you think?” he forced a smile, looking overly pleasant as he managed to keep himself from plunging back into eternal oration somehow, keeping his lips caarefully sealed as Harold began.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim watched his son and daughter-in-law disappear into the forest with mixed emotions. What showed on his face was his open contempt for the plan of going into that queer place under any circumstances, let alone with night coming on. What did not show was the light flutter of concern that he felt in his stomach. Bebother those Bolger boys! he cursed inwardly, not for the first time. To make matters worse, nobody had even thought to ask Fordogrim if he wanted to come – meaning he had missed the opportunity to tell them all what he thought of the idea (which wasn’t much), and that they clearly considered him incapable of the journey (which he was, given the pain in his leg). Fordogrim seethed and thought of all that he would have to say to his son and that crack-brain Marcho at the first opportunity. Composing those speeches put him in something of a better humour.

Fordogrim busied himself freeing Stout from his saddle and seeing that he was tied where he could get at plenty of fresh grass. The old pony seemed tired after his day’s journey but he snickered reassuringly as Fordogrim brushed him down. “There there my old boy,” he said soothingly as he removed the bracken from Stout’s thinning mane. “I know you didn’t get much of a break from my weight today, but this here leg’s going to force me to rely on you pretty heavy for the next couple of days. If you can just carry me for that long Stout, I promise I’ll walk two days straight to give you a chance to recover yourself.” Stout looked at him as though he did not believe the old hobbit capable of walking for two days without break, but for the love of his master he kept his opinion to himself.

Fordogrim settled himself onto the ground with a groan and leaned back against the wheel of the cart. Darn fool daughter-in-law of mine, he thought going into that there jungle of a forest with that son of mine. Still, there’s something to be said for her grit in volunteering for that…I would never have known that she had it in her… He looked down from where he sat into the gathering darkness of the forest. There was an eerie silence on the land, and for the first time Fordogrim noticed that there was no birdsong in the little valley where they had stopped for the night. The first stars of the evening were just beginning to appear in the sky and the light breeze that came from the north had the hint of a bitter chill in it. Likely to be a late frost in that wind. The flowers in that side garden will be hard-pressed to make it through the night if that happens. As he thought of his little hobbit hole and of the gardens that he had lovingly tended through all those years, a sudden emptiness came over him. Fordogrim had been so caught up in his anger about the move that the sadness of it had never yet fully penetrated to his heart; but as he sat beneath the darkening sky feeling the lonely wind of the north blow through him, he realised for the first time that the only home he had ever known now lay behind him. Although the miles between him and it were few, it seemed like everything he knew was on the other side of the world already.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Despite the staunch set of Regin's shoulders, the Hobbit had been feeling queasy every since they'd stepped forward under the arching trees. There were too many tangled limbs reaching out to grab his leg and, with all the protruding roots, he found it difficult to push forward very fast. On top of all that, his temper and pride had been hurt by the tumble he'd taken a few minutes before.

So when Kalimac suggested that Regin's son and daughter voluntarily do babysitting, he was sorely tempted to turn towards his former landlord and respond with a resounding "No!". The Whitfoots had dragged him into this "adventure", tearing him away from the land he loved, and now they expected him to come forward and offer his children's services as well. It was one thing to help out when he was back in Bree and had benefitted from their land. Now he was out on the open road, one of the few Hobbits who commanded a cache of milk and eggs, and he felt he owed very little to Kalimac Whitfoot!

Plus, deep inside, there was something else nagging at Harold. Back home in Bree, his family had been happier. His dad hadn't always looked so upset and there was less fighting between May and her mother. Now it seemed that someone was always digging at someone else or giving them nasty looks. Since beginning his preparations for the journey, he had scarcely had time to speak with his daughter. And he was even more worried about Henry. The boy seemed to be off somewhere sulking in a corner and never saying a word.

Harold had a sinking feeling that somehow he'd lost a piece of his happy home, something worth more than all the pennies in the world. He blamed at least part of that loss on Kalimac Whifoot who'd helped to create the mess they were in, and he was not inclined to say "yes" to any request that the Fallohide made.

At that point another tree root managed to reach out for Harold's ankel and for the second time that evening he went sprawling on the ground. Harold stubbornly refused to take the helping hand that Whitfoot offered him, instead getting up on his own and dusting off his jacket. Just at that minute Sarah walked over to make sure he was alright.

He leaned down to his wife and whispered a few private thoughts in her ear. She looked surprised but then smiled and nodded in agreement after whispering something back. Regin faced Kalimac and spoke, "I'll be honest with you, Mr. Kalimac. You've always been a good landlord, letting us get a bit behind on the rent a few times when things were really tough. And I know you are an honest, fair man. And I do think May and henry would make very good babysitters for your children."

By this point, Kalimac was smiling broadly.

"But....." continued Harold, taking a moment or two to collect his thoughts. "We're out here in the wilds and I have to provide for my family the best I can, since there are no fields to till or gardens to tend. And, since you are so honest and fair, I'm sure you'll understand, sir......"

Kalimac looked puzzled as Harold took a deep breath and finally plunged forward. "You, see, it's only fair that my lad and lass should get paid for their work. It will be hours of toil for them that will take them away from other useful things. Sarah and I agree that the responsibility would do them good, but only if they are given a fair wage for their time and their services."

Sarah nodded at Harold, proud to see her husband making such a brave stand. Then they both turned to Kalimac awaiting his reponse.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Kransha: Kalimac's reply to Harold

"You, see, it's only fair that my lad and lass should get paid for their work. It will be hours of toil for them that will take them away from other useful things. Sarah and I agree that the responsibility would do them good, but only if they are given a fair wage for their time and their services."

Harold said all this with perfect and unwavering (at least the illusion of unwavering) confidence. Kalimac, even though he knew better, let his jaw drop and hang for more than a minute as he realized that, for the first time he knew of, Harold Chubb had actually insisted that he do something. He was practically floored. He shouldn’t need to pay a couple of tweens who’s family was in his employment! It was outrageous, maddening, and utterly confusing. Kalimac came to the irritating realization that he hadn’t even considered the fact that Harold might want his children paid.

But, as much as he hated to say it, he really had his heart set on having the Chubb children watch his own. He’d told Elsa that he would get the job done and it would be a stinging embarrassment if he refused to accept their services just because they asked for a few of the many coins in his deep pockets. It had to be done, even if it bit at Kalimac Whitfoot’s pride.

“I…I…I suppose you’re right.” He said at last, his words a little slurred in his bewilderment, “I will indeed pay your children if they are responsible and dutiful in their new line of work.”

He almost instinctively patted his vest pocket that contained most of his immediate funds. He didn’t mind parting with it, but he almost felt as if he was throwing it away. ‘Nonsense!’ he thought, ‘They want to be paid and I will pay them fairly and justly. Let it not be said that Kalimac Whitfoot is some money-hoarding miser, for it has just been proven that that is not the case. It's probably better to pay them. They’ll put more effort into it if they have a monetary reward to look forward to.’

[Child of the 7th Age]

Alaklondewen's post: Marcho Bolger

The hobbits tramped forward through the dense forest. Every step pulled them away from the light and safety, and pushed them into an area where they increasingly felt as though they were being watch. Marcho turned his head from side to side, but he could see no one other than his companions. Whispers in an unknown tongue played around his head, and the moment he would stop and search for their creator, they would cease…only to commence again after the hobbit began moving forward.

“Marcho!” Kalimac tried to call out loudly to the scout, but his voice fell barely above a murmur. Clearing his throat he tried again. “Marcho! We can’t go on like this. I can barely see my feet let alone any sort of path.” His voice sounded raspy in the still air of the forest.

Marcho stopped, but did not reply right away. His brother-in-law was right…it was already going to be difficult to see the timber once they found it. The scout had never felt so strange before in the woodland, but he had never ventured in after dark until now. Marcho was not fearful of much, but he was becoming progressively more uncomfortable by the minute.

Turning in a circle, he gazed intently into the shadows. Just to his left, the trees were slightly parted and there appeared to be a small clearing. “Look over there.” Marcho pointed toward the gap. “We should be able to have enough room to wield our axes through there.” His companions silently nodded and advanced warily.

Marcho carefully stepped over the bracken between the two large willows. A long trailer swayed and grasped at his shoulder even though no breeze blew beneath the forest roof. A shudder ran down the scout’s back. There was no undergrowth here, but tangled roots made it difficult to walk without stumbling. Moonlight fell down through the leaves above and fell on a willow that had fallen in the center of the clearing. The old tree appeared to have been seared. Most likely from lightening, Marcho thought. Whatever the cause, the fallen tree would provide enough timber for several nights. They would be able to carry back what they need for the night, and load the rest in the morning.

“Let’s get the smaller branches off first, before we…” Marcho turned around to face his companions and his face immediately lost all color. “Harold, where is Sarah?” The Chubb wife had been closely following behind her husband, and she was now gone.

[ArwenBaggins]

Crispin bent over and picked up another stick for kendling. Suddenly, the twigs he had in his arms burst loose and fell scattered across his feet and the ground. "Curse it all!" He muttered slightly under his breath, hunching down to scoop the brush back into his arms.

Presently, he felt a slight tapping on his shoulder. In his current angry mood, he snapped: "Whadya want?" He shrunk back a bit and blushed to find the pretty but slightly odd Daisy Bolger standing behind him. "Oh, h'lo Daisy!"

"Um.. h'lo Crispin," was all she said, bending her head to conceal rosy cheeks. She pretended to be looking at something on the ground and started kicking her feet around in the grass.

He stopped thinking about the sticks. He adjusted them in his hands and smiled carefully at her. "So... how are ya today?" Was the first thing that came to mind. 'Does she stalk me or something? She's everywhere I go! Good Lord... women!' He cleared his throat and pushed the thought from his mind.

Daisy mumbled 'um' a few times and then started stuttering: "I... um... good... you...?" The red on her cheeks extended fully up to her bright crimson ears.

Crispin cocked an eyebrow and nodded. "Fine. So... wanna climb a tree or somethin'? I'm supposed to be gathering sticks 'n stuff, but Mama don' gotta know," He dropped his sticks into an unneat pile at his feet.

The girl sighed a bit and said under her breath but just loud enough for Crispin to hear: "Um... I... sure... I... like... um... you... Crispin," She bit her lip and winced as if she had been struck by a terrifying blow.

The boy stopped dead in his tracks. "What? Did ya just say ya like me?" He inclined his head slightly toward her.

"Yuh... um... yes...?" She fake-coughed and looked up at him. Without saying anything else, she kissed his cheek. Now, her whole face and neck was red. Turning on her heel, she ran back toward the campsite.

Crispin was awestruck. He blinked and then rubbed his eyes; his cheeks were now red. 'Wow. I know I like adventures, but... wow.' He blinked one more time and bent to pick up the sticks.

Gathering up the wood again, he straightened his back more than usual and walked to camp. He thought it was best to keep this all a secret for now.

[Arestevana]

"Crispin, darling, Did you get any kindling? Oh, I thought I told you to spit that out!" Elsa made a grab for the piece of hay dangling from her son's mouth. He avoided her in an irritant manner, and she kept a sharp eye on the lad until she was certain he had followed her instruction, despite tripping over things as she unpacked supplies from the wagon.

"Crispin!" She called again, seeing him begin to edge toward the wagon again. "Where's your sister?" Crispin gave a careless gesture in the direction of the wagon, seemingly preoccupied. Alora poked her head out, reluctantly, probably aware that she was about to be recruited. "Come on, you two, help me get some water for everyone!" Elsa called, picking up a stack of buckets.

"Over here, Elsa!" a familiar voice called. Elsa turned and saw Peony Boffin and several of her children, also carrying buckets. "The stream is just over that hill, come with us!" Peony said warmly. Elsa smiled gratefully and followed them, aware that Alora and Crispin had run off and might prove troublesome to find. She was suddenly glad that she had agreed to allow May and Henry to watch them.

When the reached the stream, the Boffin children gleefully ran out into the water to fill the buckets. Elsa watched them, trying to recall their names. Nick and Daisy? Or is it Rose? Oh, dear, I never can remember. When the buckets were full, the Boffin girl helped Elsa carry her buckets back to the Whitfoot's wagon, while the lad, Nick, It must be Nick. Surely Bolco is older than that? helped his mother with her load.

When they had returned to the wagons, Elsa smiled gratefully at her helper. "Thank you so much--" she hesitated. "Rose. Thank you." The girl smiled shyly, and Elsa realized that even if her name was Daisy, the lass would never say so; she was too polite. The girl ran off, presumably back to the Boffin's wagon, and Elsa picked up several full buckets to take to the neighboring wagons. She made sure to deliver a bucket to Ruby Hornblower, who seemed exhausted as she tried to watch her children and set up camp at the same time.

Returning to the Whitfoot's wagon, Elsa cleared a fire circle, wondering vacantly when Kalimac and the others would return, and if they'd had any luck finding wood. Just then another of the Boffin children ran by, a girl slightly younger than those who had been with their mother at the stream. Her golden hair and cheerful laughter only made Elsa sigh. That is Rose. She thought. The other lass is Daisy. Oh, dear.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim awoke with a start and knew that it had been more than an hour since he’d fallen asleep with thoughts of his home in his heart and nothing in his stomach. Looking about he could see the younger hobbits gathering up twigs to use for kindling and bringing water from the creek. Some families, having tired of waiting for the cooking fires they’d been promised by the Bolger boys, had decided to make do with what they could by way of cold leftovers from their Luncheon. Fordogrim dragged himself to his feet and looked about for his family, but Henry and May were nowhere to be seen and Sarah and Harold had not returned from the forest yet. For the first time since setting out on the journey Fordogrim felt a real sense of misgiving.

The night had now come on full but it was a clear night with a bright moon so the old hobbit had no trouble finding his heavy cloak amongst the baggage. Pulling it about him against the chill he stepped away from the cart to look for someone who might have news of the scouting party. Stout snickered at him as he stepped away, but Fordogrim only patted the pony’s neck distractedly. Stout’s snicker turned into a nervous whinny and he stamped his feet twice. The pain in Fordogrim’s leg was lessened, but his old joints were terribly stiff from their fall, followed by a long day in the saddle. He had to lean fairly heavily on his cane as he walked through the ring of carts. He moved past most of the families with only a curt greeting, the return to which was inevitably just as brusque. There were some few hobbits in the convoy who remembered that it was Fordogrim who had earned them their Luncheon, and their gratitude for that made them somewhat friendlier, but most of the people here were of generations much younger than his, and Fordogrim hardly knew any of them.

After a few minutes of looking he found Fredigar polishing off the last of the mushroom pie that he’d brought for his Luncheon. Fordogrim was disappointed not to have found Fred earlier, when there might still have been a chance to enjoy some of it. To Fordogrim’s delight, however, Fredigar smiled to see his father’s old friend and offered him some cold sausage and cheese. The elderly hobbit gratefully accepted it and set to. From somewhere, Fredigar produced a small cask of beer, and to Fordogrim’s eternal delight he poured him out a small cup. “Well Fredigar my lad,” Fordogrim said around a mouthful of sausage, “What’s happened to that fool son of mine and his wife and all those that followed Marcho into that?” and he nodded his head toward the woods.

Fredigar looked at the dark trees, now black and ominous in the night. “I don’t rightfully know Mr. Chubb, but it’s an awful stretch of time they’ve been gone. Do you think they’re having trouble finding wood?”

“In there?” Fordogrim asked. “Not likely. An old forest like that’s bound to have scaddles of old wood laying about. The only folk as would have picked it up before us would have more sense than to have come out here in the first place.” Fredigar had to work this out a bit for himself, and Fordogim used the interval it afforded to drain (and refill) his cup of beer. “No,” he continued when he saw that the younger hobbit had worked his previous sentence through, “they’re more than likely lost.” He tried to keep the note of worry in his voice as slight as possible. “Mark my words, Fredigar, we’ll be a-having to organise a rescue party for those folks as went in there, before this night is much more advanced. You’ll see.” At this prospect Fredigar looked truly alarmed and he stared at the forest with open fear. Fordogrim stood up. “Well, come on my lad. I don’t mind telling you that my old legs will need a bit of help if I’m going to get in there.”

“In there?” Fredigar gasped, pointing to nearest trees as though they were the teeth in a dragon’s mouth.

“Don’t you worry, lad, I’ve more sense in me than to go traipsing through there looking for to get lost. I just want to have a smell of it, if you catch my meaning.” Fredigar looked frightened still, but his good heart could not bear to see the elderly hobbit stagger into even the first reaches of the forest without help, so he took Fordogrim’s arm and helped him down the slight slope to the beginning of the forest.

They only took a few steps into the darkness of the trees, but it was like entering a rich and miserly man’s house uninvited. Trees closed in around them and strange sounds ran through the earth beneath them. Even though they were only a few dozen feet from their camp, they suddenly felt as though they were isolated and alone in a far and dangerous place. Fredigar involuntarily took a step backward, but Fordogrim stood his ground to face the odd will of the forest. He closed his eyes – which made little difference for the blackness beneath the trees was almost complete – and breathed deep the smell. It was the smell of ancient memory and age beyond he reckoning even of someone as old as Fordogrim. It was not often that Fordogrim felt at a loss, but this was one of those moments; he was not wanted in this place, and the very air carried to him an alien feeling of empty loss.

He opened his eyes and turned to Fredigar, now standing just beside him pale and wide-eyed. Fordogrim’s voice fell into the forest like a pebble into the ocean. “By all that’s decent and good, Fredigar, where has that Marcho taken my Harold and Sarah?”

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold

Harold was pleasantly surprised that Kalimac agreed to pay his children for their babysitting services. In Kalimac’s voice, however, Harold had detected a baffled and confused tone, as if he was shocked that he had even asked for such a thing. The Whitfoots had never paid the Chubbs for their work before, but on the road the situation seemed to be a little different. Still, Harold had not expected Kalimac to cave in so quickly and had been prepared to defend his position. Oh, won’t Henry and May be delighted, he thought. I must remind them that they must take this responsibility seriously. Wouldn’t want them to cheat Kalimac out of his money by doing a poor job, although he has so much already I doubt it would make a difference.

Despite the dreariness of the forest and and his own uneasiness in being there, he felt his spirits rise a bit and tossed a comment over his shoulder in the direction of his wife.

“Isn’t that great honey,” he said. “We must tell the children about their new job when we get back to camp. Sarah dear?”

At that instant, Harold glanced around and suddenly realized his wife was nowhere to be seen. And he heard Marcho's voice boom out that Sarah Chubb was missing. Whatever small optomism he'd felt before quickly sunk into the ground. Harold's jaw dropped open. I don’t understand.... she was just behind me. Where could she have gone?

The grey shadows had lengthened over the trees and made it difficult to see anything. But Harold was determined not to panic. Yet he'd always had a feeling that there was something hidden in the forest, something eerie and mysterious. Harold shuddered to think that some evil thing might have taken his lovely wife. He anxiously prayed that she was not hurt or distressed. I’m going to find her if I have to turn these woods upside down.

After informing Marcho he was going off on his own to find her and would return later, Harold slowly began to make his way through the tangled branches and bracken keenly searching for any sign of his wife, all the while calling her name. He scoured every tree, leaf, and twig and looked behind every bolder just in case she lay injured somewhere, unable to call out for help. After a while, he began to get frantic and intensified his searching tenfold. While crawling through the dense underbrush, he found that many burs stuck to his shirt and pants. A tree branch ripped his sleeve, but he paid it no attention and kept going. His love was much more important than his clothes; they were not very expensive anyway. To Harold it seemed as if he had been walking forever, but he had been walking in circles and had only gone a short distance.

Suddenly, in the pale reflection of a sliver of moonlight, he glimpsed a set of muddy footprints going out from behind a clump of bushes. He followed them to a half hidden glade where he thought he heard a woman humming. He saw a cloudy silhouette before him: a figure that looked a little familiar. As he got closer, he saw his wife Sarah bending down. Groping along the ground, she was filling her outer skirt with mushrooms


She turned to him beaming, “Why hello, Harold, I stopped to pick these scrumptious mushrooms for our family. They smelled so good. I was tempted to eat them all myself but I decided to wait till we get back. I thought I'd catch up with the party in a minute, since I could still hear your voices carrying over from the next glade. In fact, I thought you all might have returned this way by now. Just where have you been?”

At first, Harold didn't know whether to laugh or be angry. Now that he listened, he could hear his wife was right. The voices of the Hobbits could be heard just a little ways from them.

Quite relieved, he finally replied, “Looking for you.....I went in circles. I thought you were lost and far away. I searched for a long time and could not find you. I was frantic: I thought something awful had happened. This forest is an dark secret place, and I do not like it one bit. Please don’t ever sneak off without telling me, especially in a spot like this. Oh, I’m so relived that you’re safe. Marcho has found a large tree that we can use for firewood, so we can leave here quickly. Let’s go dear. First to Marcho and then safely home to our family in one piece.”

Sarah looked over and smiled, apologizing and explaining that she really knew just where she was going, but thanking her husband for all his efforts The two of them left the glade together, hand-in-hand, heading back towards Marcho and then towards the encampment.

[Kransha]

Kalimac, the flickering shadows of the grim forest cast over him, waddled over to the fallen tree as Harold scurried off to find his wife. She was certainly elusive; a thought that made Kalimac Whitfoot thankful that Elsa wasn’t that way. He would have quite a time trying to keep track of her and a wary eye on the children. He figured she wouldn’t get out of hand on the trip and was finally realizing that it was worth paying the Chubb children for watching his own, considering how beneficial it would be.

Holding an aged ax he’d been giving to chop the timber firmly in both hands, Kalimac made his way over the gnarled and twisting roots that protruded at random from dark crenellations in the earth. It was most unsettling to see the branches and scraggly roots practically grabbing at him as he hopped out of their reach. He pulled back his ax slightly and began carefully slashing away at the smaller protrusions of unnecessary branch with the half-dulled weapon.

It wasn’t until he actually tried to move in another direction that he realized that something had an amazingly strong hold on his foot. He looked down slowly, his ears again twitching, and pulled his trapped leg. The leg didn’t budge and the thing holding it merely tightened its stranglehold. He looked down fully, lowering the ax, and his widened eyes fell upon a thick, tangled root that had wrapped itself around his ankle and was actually pulling on it very gently, barely noticeable to the hobbit. Kalimac pulled again, but the root pulled back. He tried once more to the same effect. Other roots seemed to be creeping along the cold ground towards him, like vicious wolves stalking their prey as they circled around his defenseless lower left limb.

“Umm…Marcho…” said Kalimac, trying not to move anymore, “You may not be able to answer this, but, why exactly is the root of tree pulling on my foot?” The hobbit spoke with surprising pleasantness, but he was barely able to avoid visibly quaking as the conspiratorial trees looked down on him.

[alaklondewen]

Marcho was hurriedly removing the upper branches of the fallen willow, while Kalimac worked on the roots. The uneasiness he felt grew as the surrounding trees seemed to maliciously lean in over the hobbits. The unintelligible whispering became louder as the hobbits disassembled the fallen brother of these trees. Marcho wanted to cry out against them…it wasn’t their doing that this ancient willow had fallen, but he kept his mouth closed and concentrated on the task at hand. The quicker he worked that sooner they could get out of this eerie forest. He hoped the Chubbs would return shortly because he did not want to be forced to look for them, and he certainly could not return to camp without them. An image of Harold’s father rose in Marcho’s mind, and he shuddered.

The scout was almost relieved when Kalimac broke the silence, calling to him in an unexpectedly amiable tone. “You may not be able to answer this, but, why exactly is the root of tree pulling on my foot?”

Marcho laid is axe down and looked curiously toward his brother-in-law. “What?” He wasn’t sure he had heard correctly, but when his gaze fell on Kalimac’s leg, his eyes widened and he stood momentarily in shock. Kalimac tried to pull his leg from the vice, but the roots visibly wrapped tighter around his foot. Marcho lunged forward and knelt next to the attacking roots. He slid his knife from its sheath and slowly moved toward his brother-in-law’s ankle. The roots sensed their danger and squeezed until Kalimac winced, “Don’t cut them…they’re angry, and they’ll break my foot.”

Marcho lowered the weapon and thought a moment, then raised the knife again. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I am going to save my friend.” He yelled toward the towering limbs that swayed and groped over his head. Then, he gently wedged the knife between the roots and Kalimac’s ankle. After rocking the knife slightly for a minute or two, the tree began to lessen its grip.

As soon as an opportunity arose, Kalimac pulled his foot free. “Thank you, Marcho…I will never forget…”

“Don’t worry about it…Let’s just get out of here.”

At the same time, the Chubbs came into the clearing looking pleased to be back with the group. Sarah had her apron folded as though she was carrying something, but Marcho didn’t ask what. Instead he motioned for them to take a load of the timber that he and Kalimac had cut to be taken to the camp.

~*~*~

The hobbits had walked for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes when they began to hear the sounds of the settlers moving about and talking. They had been gone longer than Marcho had expected to be, and his burden lightened with the thought of being out from the closeness of the forest.

As they moved closer, something moved in the shadows and caught the scout’s eye. “Hello there!” He called hoping it was just one of the settlers.

“Hello yourself!” Came the reply from a mouth Marcho could identify even in the dark.

“Father?!” Harold exclaimed in surprise. “What are doing out here?” The hobbit and his wife hurried to where the old hobbit stood. “And Fredigar?”

The old hobbit complained loudly to his son, but Marcho only heard the words “senseless” and “no good hobbit” thrown his way. Shaking his head in slight amusement, the scout passed them by and entered the circle of settlers, where he quickly worked to get the fire made while ignoring the groaning and inquiries of the tired and grouchy travelers.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim nearly jumped out of his skin when Marcho called out to him from the dark of the forest. “Hello yourself!” he cried out as crossly as he could to cover the relief that he felt at their return.

“Father?!” Harold exclaimed in surprise. “What are doing out here?” His son and daughter-in-law hurried to where the old hobbit stood. “And Fredigar?” Fred opened his mouth to reply but Fordogrim had recovered from his shock sufficiently to interrupt the younger hobbit with his own response. Placing his feet apart and adopting the pose he assumed when dispensing solid advice that he knows nobody wants, he began his prepared speech to Harold.

“Senseless. Yes, it’s what I said – senseless! Running about in a forest such as this with naught to see by but the glow of your own eyeballs. No good hobbit that had the sense his mother gave him would have done what you did this night, and I’ll not hear of either of you a-taking off like that again! What business you had abandoning your children to follow around after that crack-brain Marcho Bolger I’ll never know, but I expect there’s much about this journey I’ll never understand and you’ll never feel like explaining to me. And as for you, young Master Bolger. . .” but Marcho had taken the opportunity to slink away to his own camp. Fordogrim, not to be deterred, returned to his attention to Harold and Sarah. “Well, what’s over is done. You’re back and you’re unharmed so that’ll be an end of it. . .you are unharmed aren’t you?” He tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the last vestiges of concern out of his voice.

Harold smiled and, taking his old father’s arm in his own, helped him walk out of the forest. “We’re both fine Father. We did have a bit of an adventure with Sarah getting separated from us and all, but as you said, ‘what’s over is done.’”

“Separated!” Fordogrim gasped. “What? In there?” He turned to Sarah. “You were alone in there?” Sarah assured Fordogrim that it had been far from an alarming experience, and to prove it she showed him the mushrooms that she had collected. Fordogrim was stunned. To be alone in that forest at night, and to have thought of nothing more than collecting mushrooms – such grit was well beyond what he had thought he could expect of her. He turned his attention to Harold again, saying. “Well you are a wooden-headed ninny if ever I’ve known one! What kind of a husband goes and loses his wife in a place such as that?” Harold made a non-committal noise and directed his father’s steps toward their camp.

After a moment’s pause Fordogrim turned to Sarah and asked if she had any plans for the mushrooms. Sarah looked at him sideways and said slowly, “No, Father Chubb, I haven’t – not exactly. Why?”

“Well,” Fordogrim said as casually as he could, “I know that my Harold likes a mushroom pie, and I’ll not deny as I’m fond on them as well. I do realise that it would be hard to make one out here without a proper stove and all, but if you think you could manage it, I. . .well, Harold I mean. . .would be grateful. Wouldn’t you son?”

Harold nodded greedily.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold had winced when his father had called him a “wooden headed ninny”. Since a bickering match with Fordogrim for the rest of the trip seemed very unappealing, he swallowed his pride and listened to his father’s rant. Still, Harold's irritation abated considerably when Fordogrim asked Sarah to make a mushroom pie. Harold savored in his mind a picture of his wife’s famous mushroom pie, and felt his stomach groan. Eager to appease his hunger, he nodded greedily when Fordogrim inquired if he would appreciate one. Maybe it was a good thing that Sarah wandered off after all.

“ Grandpa Fordo, I have a piece of very exciting news that I would like the whole family to hear.”

Harold turned in the direction of the children and called them over.

He waited for the children to join the rest of the family. Beaming, Harold addressed the entire family, “Everyone, I have a very exciting piece of news. While in the forest, Sarah gathered a bunch of mushrooms and now she will be able to make her delicious mushroom pie. But, I also have another piece of news, perhaps even more interesting. On our trip to get firewood, Kalimac asked me if May and Henry wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on his two little ones. I told him that you would not watch his children unless he paid you, which is only the fair thing. Why should the children have to do work if they do not get something for their services?"

" May, Henry, I want you to know that I do not expect you to take this task lightly. If you accept his offer, you must be diligent and dedicated and take your work seriously. Unless I feel that you have done a good job, I will tell Kalimac to keep his money. I am giving you this opportunity because I feel that you are responsible enough to handle it; please do not disappoint me. You are growing up and it is time that you start taking your work seriously. So what do you say? Are you willing to make the effort and earn your pay?"

[Witch_Queen]

While Harold was telling the kids about Kalimac's offer Sarah began to think about how she was going to make her famous mushroom pie when she didn't have an oven. Improvise. Sarah had already decided that she should get up the next morning and make them all some breakfast. She knew she would need to begin a fire is she wanted to make a pie before they left the campsite in the morning. She placed the mushrooms in the cart and began to gather the ingrediants together. The fire would have to be started if Sarah was to begin cooking.

Sarah looked to Grandpa Fordo. "Grandpa will you help me start the fire if I am to begin that mushroom pie for you and your son." A pie did sound good to her right now. She look to see that the children were smiling. Perhaps maybe they would take some responsibility so she wouldn't have to worry about them so much. In the back of her mind Sarah was going over all the ingrediants she would need and what she was going to do about breakfast the next morning.

[alaklondewen]

When their father had proposed babysitting, Henry and May had quickly agreed. Henry had often helped his father on the Whitfoot land, but the boy had never been paid before…for anything. The prospect of having real money, that wasn’t just a couple of pennies from his father for being good, seemed surreal to the young hobbit.

The money had been all Henry was worried about the night before, but now that the morning sun was rising, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to spend his time watching those Whitfoot kids. He had wanted to do some exploring the next time they stopped…maybe into the forest a bit. The night before he’d heard some queer tales about that place, and he wanted to check it out for himself. But not with those Whitfoots around…I won’t be able to do anything! He glanced over toward Alora and Crispin. The lass was kind of cute, but he bet that Crispin would keep him busy. I bet I have to entertain that kid everywhere we go. Henry sighed and pulled his knees up to his chin. This was going to be a long trip.

Sitting with his back against the wagon’s wheel, he turned his attention to his mother who was hurrying around the fire making breakfast. He could still taste the mushroom pie from the night before, and he was certainly looking forward to what she would prepare this morning. His mother had always been a great cook and knew how to make due with what little provisions they had.

Looking around the circle, Henry saw that most of the travelers were up, packing, and preparing small breakfasts for their families. May, however, was still stretched out sleeping in her makeshift bed. Henry was very curious as to what she thought of all this babysitting talk. Deciding he didn’t want to wait any longer for her to awaken (and because it would give his stomach a break from watching his mother cook), the young hobbit decided May a slept long enough. Pulling himself up slowly with the weight of the wagon, he tiptoed to where May laid slumbering peacefully. Henry, after searching the ground a moment, saw his Grandpa’s cane leaning against the back of the wagon. Grandpa Fordo was sitting in the back of the cart, apparently dozing. The young hobbit quietly snatched his grandfather’s cane and proceeded to poke his sister in the ribs. At first he prodded gently, but when May did not respond, Henry jabbed her avidly until she cried out.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Henry smiled over his sister and quickly placed the cane behind his back.

[ArwenBaggins]

"Baby-sat! Why, I'm almost thirteen! I don' need ta be watched by somebody else! Tha CHUBBS 'specially! Lord...," Crispin plucked the straw from his mouth and stopped away from his father.


Finding a nearby dead treestump, Crispin fell effortlessly on it and put his curly head into his hands. Strands of hair flew into his face obstructing his view. He angrily pushed them away, scratching his face in the process. "Stupid... this is all stupid. Papa probably thinks I'll get lost when I'm explorin' or somethin'. I'm notta baby like Alora," He gritted his teeth and picked up a rock from beneath his feet.

A squirrel sitting in the tree overhead laughed gaily, clutching the walnut in its hands. "Stupid bloody beast," He slugged the rock at the animal and made it scamper away.

[Memory of Trees]

May was wandering through their cozy little house back in Bree, letting the comfortable feeling of home seep into her bones. Her parents had decided to turn back after all! May sighed dreamily. Everything was exactly as it should be – the furniture, the warm, clean smell of the cottage, even the shadows below the windows were just how she had known them all her life. May stepped out the door and into the radiant sunshine. She knelt down my the little flower garden by the front of the house, and cupped the blossom of a smiling daffodil in her hands, drawing it close to her eager face. May breathed in deep the fragrant aroma of… mushrooms? And suddenly the pretty little flower turned into stick and poked her hard in the side. May yelped in surprise as the stick hit her again, harder!

May jerked awake, her fingers closing instinctively around the stick. Both eyes popped open, and she was staring into Henry’s cheeky face. “Oh, good,” he said, smiling impishly. “You’re awake!”

May sat up on the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Yes, I’m awake, little brother,” May said, her voice dripping with syrupy sarcasm. “And you, my friend, are going to pay very, very dearly for it!” She jerked the cane away from him and leapt from the bed with a wild cry.

Henry jumped back and took off running with May in hot pursuit. “Get back here, you little rogue!” she yelled playfully, brandishing the stick with a dramatically comic air. Henry gave a whoop and bounded off the back of the wagon. May was right on his heels, roaring outrageous threats as she chased him around the wagon.

As they rounded the other side of the wagon, Henry ran smack into the sleeping Grandpa Fordo, or Forgo, as May called him. May crashed headlong into her brother, and they both tumbled breathlessly to the ground. “Eh? What’s this?” said Fordo crankily. “What’re you doing with my cane, May? Here, give that back!” Their grandfather snatched the gnarled stick away from his disheveled granddaughter. “Now what’s this all about?” he demanded, squinting fiercely at the two of them.

May tried to explain between fits of giggles. “Well, you see… haha… Henry… oh hoho… he was chasing me… whooohahaha… or rather I… haha… was chasing him… hehehe… but he… poked me… up!” At this point both May and Henry dissolved in a helpless laughter so contagious that even Grandpa Forgo couldn’t resist a small smile.

“Ah, well,” he said finally. “I suppose you two had best run along. But no more of this dashing about like headless chickens! Leave an old man to his rest.”

“Okay, Grandpa,” May replied, hauling Henry to his feet. “Sorry abou that!” As they walked away from the old man, May felt something cool and hard against her leg. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out the coins her father had given her a few days ago. “Oh, yeah!” She grabbed Henry’s arm, pulling him to a stop. “I keep forgetting. Here, half’s yours!”

Henry’s eyes grew wide as three bright copper coins dropped into his outstretched palm. “Whoa! Where’d you get these, May?”

“Silly! It’s not like I stole them or anything. Daddy gave them to me. Said we could spend them however we like. I plan to save mine, along with whatever I earn babysitting those Whitfoot children.”

“You’re going to do it, then?” Henry asked.

“You know I am - I already told Daddy that. You were there!”

Henry grinned. “I know. I just wasn’t sure if you just said yes, or if you really meant yes, if you know what I mean.” He paused and frowned up at her. “I surprised that you would want to work for the Whitfoots, I guess.”

May took the time to inspect her shoe before answering. “I suppose I don’t, not really. But it’s okay to work for them, because they’re paying us, so it’s not as if we’re their servants or anything.” She stopped, her eyes scanning the horizon. “Besides, I need the money,” she added abruptly, eyes still on the sky.

“For what?” Henry said incredulously.

“Oh, I’ve got a few plans,” May replied vaguely, and set off at a brisk walk again. “So, when do you think we’ll be going into that big old forest ?” she inquired, changing the subject.

[alaklondewen]

Marcho shivered as he slowly finished off his warmed bread and eggs. The morning’s dew still laced the surface of the wagon, and he could feel the dampness seeping through his trousers as he stretched out in the back. He was taking his time this morning, because he knew he needed to go back into the forest to gather the rest of the timber. Even in the bright morning sunlight he could feel the stray branches tugging at his clothes. He shivered again. He had purposefully not told anyone what happened in there, with the exception of his dear wife. The travelers would be camping next to the forest for the next three nights, and he did not need them more worried and anxious than they already were. No, he would pretend nothing unusual took place, but he would not go under those boughs after dark again, not by his own volition anyway.

The scout watched the settlers begin their morning preparations. Several small fires had been lit, and a few hobbits tried to salvage the charred kindling from the night before. Their spirits seemed to be merry with the coming of the new day. Many wives sang together as they did their chores, and the husbands tended the fires and talked of the land to come. Marcho chuckled to see Harold Chubb’s children running, one after the other. Does that girl have a cane? Marcho thought to himself and sat up to get a better look. They stopped and he saw that old Fordogrim retrieving the twisted stick. Chuckling again, the scout shook his head and lay back once more.

“Looking mighty comfortable, Brother.” Blanco stood at the end of the wagon smiling mischievously as though he’d caught his brother carrying out some surreptitious plan. Marcho just glanced at him from the corner of his eye and placed his hands behind his head in a dramatic fashion. “Come now, we need to get that wood before we set out. I’m sure you, of all hobbits, want us on the road at a decent time this morning.”

Blanco was right. Marcho normally would have already had his wagon packed and been complaining about how long the others were taking, but he wasn’t looking forward to entering the forest again. The scout sighed and mumbled something under his breath that might have sounded like his brother was right, but was too subtle to be sure. Standing up and hopping out of the wagon, Marcho grabbed his axe and followed his brother into the forest toward the fallen, ancient willow.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Ninny-headed children! Fordogrim settled himself back into his comfortable position on the cart and breathed deep the smells coming from Sarah’s cooking pans. The memory of the mushroom pie was still very much in his mind but he was looking forward to some eggs and bacon. His leg ached where Henry had crashed into him, but he found it difficult to be hard on the lad. Such a quiet fellow he mulled as he watched the young hobbit and his sister chase one another about. Takes after his father in that. And his grandmother. He quickly shied his mind away from thoughts of Prim. Every morning since she’d gone away, he had visited her grave to bid her hello and tend to the small garden that he’d planted over her. Every morning, that is, until today. He hoped that his friend Halfast would remember his promise to look in on Prim from time to time, and that he would take the opportunity to do so today.

Seizing his cane, the old hobbit pulled himself to his feet and hobbled over to Sarah. The pain in his leg was, if anything, worse than the day before, but after a night spent on the ground there wasn’t much else that he could have expected. Harold, of course, had tried to insist that Fordogrim sleep in the makeshift bed that he had contrived in the back of the cart, but the elderly hobbit had insisted on sleeping beside the fire where it would be warmer. As the stiffness in his hip refused to go away, he began to wonder if he had made the right choice after all. “Good morning to ye, Sarah,” he said as he got to the fire.

His daughter in law was busily frying the bacon but she looked up from her pan and said in a friendly tone, “And good morning to you Father Chubb. Did you sleep well last night?”

“Aye, that I did, though this old leg of mine mayhap could have got a better rest. That’s the thing about getting old, you see, your body parts sort of take on their own personalities. The whole trick is trying to keep everyone happy all at the same time, like in a family. But that can be cussedly hard at times.”

Sarah looked up at him again and smiled gently. “Yes, Father Chubb, that it can.” Fordogrim smiled back at her as best he could. He was feeling particularly well-disposed toward Sarah this morning, and not just because of the mushroom pie of the night before (which had been delicious) or the bacon this morning (which smelled almost done). Over supper, Harold and Sarah had told him the full story of their little adventure into the Forest and his surprise at what he now openly referred to as “My Sarah’s Surprising Grit” had only increased – as had his opinion of his son’s wife. He had also very much appreciated her asking him to help with the fire last night. It was the first time on this journey that he hadn’t been treated like an old invalid; in fact, as he had helped her put together the supper, it had occurred to him that among his whole family, it was only Sarah who did not treat him like an old hobbit. He wondered why he had never noticed that before…

Sarah interrupted his line of thought with a question. “Well, Father Chubb. You’ve been very quiet about our arrangement with the Whitfoots. What do you make of our May and Henry making a bit of money from looking after those children?”

Fordogrim assumed the thoughtful expression he used before pronouncing judgement, and if he noticed Sarah’s look of resignation, he pretended not to. “That’s a fine question, Sarah, and I’ll thank you for asking it of me – unlike some other folk, who never consider the opinion of an old hobbit like myself” and he glared at his son where he was working about the cart. “To be truthful, I’m not rightly sure what to think of it all. I’ve been a tenant on Whitfoot land most of my life and they’ve never given me reason to complain about ‘em. To turn around now and demand money of ‘em for something as we’d do as a favour for a friend, well, it seems not all fair, like. On the other hand, the Whitfoots have always been sharpish with their money. Old Mr Whitfoot now, he could be right tight-fisted with it, but even he could forgive a month’s late rent in a poor season if I had to ask it of him. The Young Mr Whitfoot seems to be a bit freer with the coins, but not much. I’ll bet you pennies to pebbles that if our Harold hadn’t a-thought to ask for pay, Young Mr Whitfoot would never have offered. And I’ll bet you double again that he never would a’ even thought of it himself!” The elderly hobbit fell into a reverie for a moment and his brow furrowed with thought. “I suppose, now that I think on it full, that it’s a good thing for the children to be gaining something more from this journey than a long walk away from home. And I daresay it will be quite an eye-opener for the Whitfoots to see that we Chubbs can’t be counted on to do as they think all the time!” Fordogrim planted his feet apart, and leaned heavily on his cane with both hands, indicating that he had given his Final Word On The Subject. Sarah hid the slight look of relieved amusement that played about her eyes. “At any rate,” Fordogrim said, “where’s that son of mine got to? And those children? I can tell by the smell of that there bacon that it’s ready to be eaten, and I can tell you that I’m a-ready to do the eating!”

[Kransha]

"Baby-sat! Why, I'm almost thirteen! I don' need ta be watched by somebody else! Tha CHUBBS 'specially! Lord..." roared Kalimac Whitfoot’s eldest child as soon as Kalimac had finished explaining his proposal. Kalimac was sorely tempted to correct young Crispin’s malformed grammar, but hesitated as his son turned sharply and stalked in the opposite direction before he could comment.

Kalimac, who stood almost a full head taller than his son, suddenly felt dwarfed by the boy. Disconcerting thoughts immediately began coursing through him uncomfortably as he stuttered briefly; trying to think of something he could say to make everything right. Unfortunately, Crispin was already gone. He stepped back, mumbling to himself and letting a dejected feeling creep over him as he turned carelessly from Alora, who still looked relatively content with what her father had said and unsure of why Crispin had bothered with all the yelling. The hobbit of Bree was at a loss, losing confidence in himself slowly as he lost his faith in his own mentality. He hadn’t considered the fact that Crispin would protest. He distinctly remembered planning to be firm and insistent when addressing his offspring about the matter, but all that resilience evaporated like water on a hot day. He decided that it would be best to try and forget the incident before it began to gnaw at him incessantly. Kalimac had better things to do than mull about.

He caught sight of his newest employees, walking briskly near the Chubb’s wagon. They were talking about something, but Kalimac couldn’t tell what. It was about time to make clear to them that he, Kalimac Whitfoot, was their new employer, and they would do best to not slack off in their line of work. He headed boldly towards them. “You over there,” he said angrily, still inflamed by Crispin’s passionate refusal, “Wait up a moment.” He headed forward quickly, growing more irritated as the energetic youths continued strolling along heedlessly. As he caught up, he clapped a hand haltingly on each of the young one’s shoulders to stop them long enough for him to get ahead and say what he had to say.

“I must speak to both of you about something,” he continued as he squeezed between the two children and spun nimbly to face them. He had seen May and Henry many a time in the past, but had never felt that it was important to truly know them. Now, assessing these youths could be crucial to the well-being of his children. Taking a deep and commanding breath, he went on, “You two are working for me now. Technically, you’ve always been slightly in my employment, but you will now be working for me more fervently. You’ve each been given a great responsibility, as your parents have no doubt already told you. My wife and I treasure Alora and Crispin more than anything else and if you let the slightest thing happen to them…well, let’s just say I can’t be held responsible for what happens.”

His furrowed brow lightening its load, Kalimac let his right hand, which was currently resting on Henry Chubb’s shoulder, dove swiftly into his vest pocket. He rummaged around in the cloth niche for a long and contemplative minute before letting his clenched fist slide out.

“It is customary, in many of the hobbit businesses of Bree-land, to give those in your service a taste of the rewards they will receive in the future, a sort of incentive to persevere. So…”

Kalimac extended his hand to the two Chubbs and opened. In his palm sat several small coins, dulled by rust but still giving off a slight gleam like all money seemed to do in Kalimac Whitfoot’s gaze. By monetary standards, it wasn’t very much at all, but it was probably enough to motivate Mayflower and Henry Chubb to take good and responsible care of his children. For now, he could only wait and see which one of the children took the initiative to actually take the money from his hand.

[alaklondewen]

Plans?! What plans? Henry stood dumbfounded watching his sister walk away. May had plans for her money…plans he, her own beloved brother, didn’t know about. It wasn’t fair; he wanted plans for his money. “Humph,” he muttered under his breath, and then quickly jogged after her.

“So, when do you think we’ll be going into that big old forest?” May asked over her shoulder.

“The forest? Man, oh, man do I want have a look in there, but how are we ever to get a chance with those kids around the rest of the trip.” Henry’s griped through his clenched teeth as he threw another razor sharp look toward that Crispin lad.

Henry was about to utter some more condescending remarks about the Whitfoots, when he felt a firm grip on his shoulder and was spun around to find himself face to face with Mr. Whitfoot. Henry blanched immediately assuming Mr. Whitfoot heard them talking about the forest. Oh, we’re goin’ to get it now, he thought and lowered his head almost anticipating some sort of blow.

“I must speak to both of you about something,” the Whitfoot father had a commanding voice that demanded their full attention. Henry swallowed hard and raised his eyes to looked at the older hobbit. “You two are working for me now. Technically, you’ve always been slightly in my employment, but you will now be working for me more fervently. You’ve each been given a great responsibility, as your parents have no doubt already told you. My wife and I treasure Alora and Crispin more than anything else and if you let the slightest thing happen to them…well, let’s just say I can’t be held responsible for what happens.”

Henry’s eyes widened. Now he was sure Mr. Whitfoot had heard them talk of going into the forest. At least they hadn’t done anything yet, so the older hobbit couldn’t actually accuse them of anything. Glancing quickly at his sister for support, he was surprised to see her standing so straight and meeting the Whitfoot’s gaze with her own. May had always been so strong and brave. Henry looked from one to the other and felt Mr. Whitfoot’s grip on his shoulder ease and then disappear completely. The older hobbit seemed to be searching for something in his vest. The boy watched curiously, wondering how many pockets a rich man had in his vest, until the man finally pulled his hand out.

“It is customary, in many of the hobbit businesses of Bree-land, to give those in your service a taste of the rewards they will receive in the future, a sort of incentive to persevere. So…”

Henry’s jaw dropped and his eyes grew as big as saucers when he saw the coins in the hobbit’s palm. Was Mr. Whitfoot just giving them those coins…for nothing? The boy gawked at the outstretched hand, until Mayflower elbowed him in the ribs and told him to close his mouth.

“Thank you, Mr. Whitfoot,” May quickly snatched the money without dropping a single, shiny coin. “We will do our best to take care of your darling children, Sir. Isn’t that right, Henry.”

“That’s right, Mr. Whitfoot. We won’t let nothin’ happen to them…we promise.” He added quickly nodding is head vigorously. “Thank you, Sir.” If this Whitfoot character was going to just give them money without them working for it, maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Memory of Tree's post:

May was stung by Kalimac Whitfoot’s imperious and condescending tone. ‘He shouldn’t be allowed to talk to us like that,’ she inwardly seethed. ‘If he doesn’t think we’re good enough to watch his children, why doesn’t he just come out and say so?’ But she held her tongue quite well until he had finished speaking.

“It is customary,” he concluded. “In many of the hobbit businesses of Bree-land, to give those in your service a taste of the rewards they will receive in the future, a sort of incentive to persevere. So…” Kalimac fumbled around in his vest, withdrawing several shining coins.

May was puzzled. ‘We haven’t even done anything yet, for goodness sake!’ one part of her mind cried. Although she didn’t mind working for the Whitfoots, May despised charity. But Kalimac Whitfoot didn’t seem to be acting particularly charitible – May was certain something else was up, and she didn’t like it.

May stepped back, crossing her arms and cocking her head a little. Her mind was racing back to the streetfights of the children back in Bree. There were generally two groups: the “town kids” (as they called the rich landowner’s children), and the lower class sharecropping children – the “ruggers.” No one was really sure how that nickname came about, but any poor child was thrilled to be named one.

May remembered the way it had gone back in the streets. Somebody insulted somebody else, and the maybe someone got pushed or knocked into, and before long all the kids knew that there was going to be fight and turned out to either participate or enjoy the show. But before the actual fight broke loose, there was a bit of restless silence – the quiet before the storm, maybe – where the children from both sides studied each other, sized up their enemy. This is what May was doing now.

It was a test. Of course. He was waiting to see which of them would take the coin from his outstretched palm.

So Kalimac Whitfoot stood there, extending the money to them both, waiting. Then she made up her mind. Quicker than thought May snatched the coins from his hand so lightly that he barely felt her fingertips brush his palm. Kalimac looked down at his still outstretched hand, almost surpirised to see the money gone.
“Thank you, Mister Whitfoot,” May said politely and expressionlessly. “We will do our best to take care of your darling children. Won’t we, Henry?” She couldn’t help sounding a little bitter on that last statement. Henry was still standing, gawking at Mr. Whitfoot’s red velvet vest like he expected bright copper coins to bulge from the buttonholes or fly forth from his shirt cuffs. May elbowed him hard in the ribs.

Henry blinked and closed his mouth. “That’s right, Mr. Whitfoot. We won’t let nothin’ happen to them… we promise.” He chimed in obediently. “Thank you, sir,” he added as an afterthought.

May clenched her teeth. She knew exactly what Henry was thinking. ‘He’s not doing us a favor, Henry,’ she screamed inside her head. ‘He’s not being nice, or kind, or even polite. That man is just being what he’s always been, a stingy, proud, self-concieted little pig, and nothing more.’ But of course, she said nothing of the kind out loud. “Come on Henry. We’ve need to finish what we were doing, if Mister Whitfoot is entirely finished.” She turned her back on Kalimac Whitfoot and stalked away with Henry trailing confusedly along behind her.

[Arestevana]

Elsa Whitfoot knelt by a bucket of water, happily scrubbing the breakfast dishes. It was not quite as pleasant as washing at home by the window, she reflected, and it was a little damp, but the sun was certainly cheering. When she’d finished the last dish, she dumped the dirty water in the grass and set about packing up the wagon.

Elsa saw Crispin for a moment out of the corner of her eye, but he soon disappeared behind a wagon. Kal was going to tell the children about May and Henry today. Oh, they will be so excited! Elsa forced herself to view this as a cheerful thought. They will be perfectly safe. she reminded herself. Kal knows what he’s doing.

Yes, she decided. Kalimac’s idea had been excellent. They would not be tied down looking after the children, and Alora and Crispin would be thrilled to make some new friends. It did not occur to Elsa that her children might not be pleased with the arrangement. The hobbit smiled to herself, depositing a bundle in the bed of the wagon. She wasn’t nearly so nervous about the children anymore. Why, Mr. and Mrs. Chubb had gone to collect firewood the previous evening, and May and Henry had been quite responsible while their parents were away.

Coming to the end of her tidying, Elsa happened to glance up and see May chasing Henry between the wagons. Why, she thought, What a clever game! Won’t Crispin and Alora have fun! Glancing up a moment later, she saw Kalimac talking to Henry and May. Look, his hand over his heart; no doubt telling the tweens how grateful he is. Yes, I'm right, he's shaken May's hand. Why, those children look so happy! Positively bursting with pride in such a responsibility! Elsa smiled and returned to her work.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold felt enormously relieved that the whole babysitting mess was over. Back in Bree, he'd always complied with Kalimac’s requests and thought that he was a fair Hobbit. But he remained convinced that the Whitfoots ought to pay his children something in return for their work. Harold had expected Kalimac to put up more of a fight, but instead the Fallohide had readily accepted with only a minimum of fuss.

Even more surprising to Harold, Kalimac had given the children a few coins of their salary in advance. This was an even more pleasant surprise, although Harold found it a bit strange. Why would anyone pay their employees before they even did any work? Harold was not used to such strange business practices, but he was happy to be on good terms with Kalimac. He was not a rebel by nature and preferred things to go quietly and smoothly.

After eating breakfast, Harold decided to go over and thank the Whitfoot’s for their generosity. He walked up to Kalimac’s wagon where he found his wife Elsa in the middle of washing up the breakfast dishes. He approached her politely, but in a much more relaxed and confident manner than he would normally have done so in Bree. “Why hello Ma’am,” said Harold tipping his hat, “How good it is to talk to you . I would just like to thank you for your generosity. You didn’t have to pay them in advance. That was very kind of you!” Elsa said nothing but gave Harold a quizzical stare that suggested she had no idea what he was talking about.

Harold looked up embarassed. Surely Kalimac had discussed these arrangements with his wife! Attempting to fill in the awkward silence, the Harfoot blundered on with a more lengthy explanation, “Your husband offered to pay Harold and May for their services. He even gave them a few coins in advance. I would just like to assure you that the children have promised me they will take the job seriously and earn every penny of their pay. Your children will never be in any danger. Your husband’s money will be well spent.”

When Elsa started back even more vacantly than before. Harold shrugged his shoulders, still puzzled by Elsa’s behavior, and returned to his wagon to prepare his family for departure.

[alaklondewen]

Marcho and Blanco returned to the camp about midmorning, firewood in tow. They had made their trek through the forest and back without a hitch. Blanco inquired about the night before, but Marcho kept quiet, not wanting to make himself look weak in the eyes of his younger brother.

Most of the settlers already had their wagons packed and fires stomped out when the brothers arrived, so they were able to wrap up the morning’s activities easily, and soon the caravan had returned to the long road.

Although the morning had been clear and the sun showed promise of warm weather, as the day progressed, the travelers found themselves under a grey sky that moved over them from the west. Soon a cool drizzle fell, and their spirits fell with it. Some of the families were prepared for the rain and covered themselves with tarps, but many could not afford such things and resorted to using bed sheets and blankets. Of course, those were not efficient and the hobbits were soon soaked through.

The group only stopped once, late in the afternoon, to fix a meal, but the rain remained constant, so there were no fires to cheer their thoughts. The travelers remained relatively quiet as the miles slipped slowly by. No songs were sung today. The children remained in their wagons or on their ponies and did not run about in general merriment. Heads hung and shoulders drooped, and most everyone reveled in his or her own gloominess.

The rain eased and finally let up entirely as the early evening approached. One might have expected the group would have been thrilled to have escaped the shower, but they were too miserable to be very happy about anything at this point. They did, however, become more vocal, and although Marcho could hear their grumblings at the front of the line, he kept them moving far into the evening when they finally arrived at the next planned campsite.

The travelers quickly unpacked their camping supplies and worked on building another communal fire. After they changed into dry clothes and began to prepare for their evening meals, the tension that had been building all that day finally erupted. It all started with Mrs. Elsa Whitfoot who could not wait another moment to confront her husband about a small financial arrangement Kalimac had made with the Chubb children. It seems the husband left his wife out of the negotiations, and she was none too pleased. Well, Kalimac now found himself in some trouble with his wife, and he needed to get out of it, so the conservative hobbit called Mr. Harold Chubb over to release some of his frustration on, and point a finger to, the father of said Chubb children. Harold refused to be blamed for the Whitfoots’ miscommunication and stood up impressively to his employer. The Chubb’s wife and father saw what was happening, and soon the adults of both families were shouting and waving their arms and putting on a rather entertaining scene that the other settlers could not help but watch.

[Arestevana]

Elsa glared angrily around the quarreling group. She fumed silently, trying to catch her breath after a furious tirade at Sarah Chubb. She tired to remember what she had said. Perhaps it had something to do with people who exploit others? It did not particularly bother Elsa that she could not recall her arguments clearly. She hardly knew whom the arguments were intended to clout anyway.

It had begun as a simple disagreement. Kalimac had made a financial decision without her consent and she’d politely asked for an explanation. Perhaps politely wasn’t exactly the term to use, but she hadn’t yelled. Well, she hadn’t intended to yell. Now Mr. and Mrs. Chubb were in the argument too, as well as Mr. Chubb’s father. For the sake of pride Elsa turned her anger on them, rather than on ‘the family’. She had, by this time, thoroughly convinced herself that the Chubbs were to blame; Harold Chubb had been trying to exploit Kalimac’s generosity.

Having found her voice again, Elsa jumped right bask into the verbal free-for-all with a shot at Fordogrim. She tried to keep her voice at a reasonable volume, not wanting to be the first of the group to start shouting. “This never would have happened if your son hadn’t asked for pay! We give him sufficient wages already! Why should we pay our employees twice? Do your grandchildren need to be bribed in order to maintain a passable level of responsibility? How on earth were those children brought up?”

By this time Elsa realized that she was going to sincerely regret this whole argument. However, she felt as if she was too far in to back out, and she was certainly too proud to walk of in a huff. So instead she turned her rage on her husband, whom, she reasoned, hat gotten her into this fight by blaming Mr. Chubb. “Kalimac, this is madness! What are we doing, arguing with these folk? It doesn’t matter if we are being manipulated, just stop being a fool! We shouldn’t grudge them the money!” If she recognized self-contradiction when it came from her own mouth, Elsa gave no sign of it. Nor did she stop being unreasonable, stating haughtily, “If we cannot trust these folk with our money, why do we trust them with our children? Surely our children are of infinitely more value than any coin!”

Elsa set her jaw and crossed her arms irately. People are such fools! She felt a sudden wish that these were only naughty children to be chased out of the garden with a broom. However, voices were vying for dominance, and Elsa soon heard an argument being leveled in her direction. Elsa glowered defiantly at her accuser, wondering what pathetic complaint they had to offer.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim had spent the day happily dozing in his saddle and offering advice to members of the convoy who happened to stray close enough to him to wake him up. The rain had come as an unhappy surprise, but the old hobbit had spent a long lifetime outdoors working the fields and was not to be deterred by a bit of wet (even though the damp made his leg ache). He noted with disdain the rudimentary attempts by the Whitfoots to protect themselves from the water, and with pride the stoicism of his own family. As the afternoon had worn on and the sky had begun to grow dark, Fordogrim had contemplated another confrontation with Marco but decided against it: the scout was clearly too far gone in his lunacy to be swayed by even the most commonsensical observations of a level-headed hobbit such as himself!

He was asleep once more when the argument started, but the raised voices of his Harold and Sarah were enough to stir him from where he slumbered with his back to the cartwheel. When Fordogrim saw who they were fighting with, he could not repress a happy smile of pride at their determination, even if he did not approve of their target. It never did any good to go after one’s employer, no matter how thick-headed and tight-fisted they might be! Hauling himself upright, the old hobbit hobbled over to the squabbling families to hear the argument better. Almost as soon as he got within range of the fury Mrs. Elsa Whitfoot turned toward him a torrent of abuse: “This never would have happened if your son hadn’t asked for pay! We give him sufficient wages already! Why should we pay our employees twice? Do your grandchildren need to be bribed in order to maintain a passable level of responsibility? How on earth were those children brought up?”

Fordogrim was stunned, and not just by the sudden attack on himself, but by the total lack of respect for his years and hobbit-sense that it showed. So enraged was he by Elsa’s attack that for a moment he stood his ground absolutely wordless with rage. Elsa, clearly taking this as a victory over him, turned to her husband to abuse him. “Kalimac,” she began, “this is madness! What are we doing, arguing with these folk? It doesn’t matter if we are being manipulated, just stop being a fool! We shouldn’t grudge them the money!”

These folk? Manipulated? This was the first and last straw for Fordogrim. Raising his cane to emphasise the full extent of his rage at the Whitfoots he staggered forward a step. He felt rather than saw Harold and Sarah attempt to stop him but nothing short of an earthquake could have diverted Fordogrim’s attention to his landlords in that moment. “Now you just listen here a moment young Miss Elsa! It’s handsome is as handsome does, I always say, and at the moment you are acting in a manner that’s far from handsome. After all the years that me and mine have been a-working your lands and providing you with rent you should owe us all a bit more respect, even if the fact that I knew your father from the time he was a rapscallion lad stealing apples from my orchard weren’t enough to shame your tongue from a-speaking to me as you have!”

Elsa and Kalimac bridled at this and said some angry words in response, unused as they were to hearing their oldest and most stable tenant farmer speak back to them. Fordogrim, emboldened by their reaction, pressed forward, despite the warning hand he felt Harold place on his shoulder. “As to the money that’s been paid, you should be thankful that our Henry and May were a-willing to take on the job of looking after your fool children. Why any hobbit with even half the sense his mother gave him can see that a Whitfoot is about as suited for a journey of this type as an easy-chair. Sitting about in your comfortable holes all day, counting out the earnings that others with grit have made for you – that’s what you're good for.”

Kalimac raged at Fordogrim for this, stepping so close to the older hobbit that Fordogrim had to take a stumbling step back. He raised his cane toward the taller and younger hobbit in order to shake it beneath his nose as he let loose with his most stinging retort, but then a very unfortunate thing happened. Just as Fordogrim began to shake the knobbled head of his cane beneath Kalimac’s nose, the Whitfoot moved his head forward to make an emphatic point. End of cane collided with tip of nose, and Kalimac roared with pain and anger.

[Kransha]

The day had seemed so calm before, despite minor annoyances and inconveniences biting like pestering gnats at Kalimac. Now, the prosperous hobbit found himself more muddled then ever before. The families were slowly but surely breaking out into a very perplexing argument. It had actually begun with him, seeming simple enough to end. Elsa had inquired, with surprising politeness (or at least Kalimac tried to take it as politeness) but obvious anger about the payment of the Chubb children. Too tired and annoyed by the day’s happenstance to respond, Kalimac simply appropriated Harold Chubb to explain the matter in simple terms. Unfortunately, his shifting of responsibility was interpreted as a pinning of blame, and Harold became defensive. Now his family had joined in the argument and Kalimac wasn’t entirely sure who was defending who. His wife, the ever-ready Elsa Whitfoot, heralded Kalimac onto the playing field by taking her anger out on Sarah Chubb, but swiftly turned to him and redirected her righteous fury.

“Surely our children are of infinitely more value than any coin!” concluded his wife after her brief, but caustic tirade at her husband. Kalimac, looking slightly floored by everything that was happening, managed a response meekly. He did not have time to consider what he was saying, so the awkward puddle of words promptly spilled out of his slacked jaw as he tried to salvage the ruined situation.

“Yes, yes, of course they are, that’s not the…umm…that’s not the issue here. I…I think…I think we can trust them with money. I mean, we’ve always paid them well before and they’ve never slacked off in their work, or even asked for forwarding of funds or any such financial aid, though they might sorely need it. It is not me who is being the fool here, Elsa, it’s just that….that…” his tiny voice shrunk, shriveled up, and finally faded from existence. He could think of no more to say an thus didn't bother trying.

For a moment, Kalimac looked like he really had no idea what he was saying, irritation, rage, befuddlement, confusion, and an utter sense of chaos welling up in him, but he immediately summed up all the plausible choices and was about to defend himself when he was interrupted hastily by the person he’d least expected to interrupt him, old Fordogrim Chubb. The old hobbit went on for a good minute, sending Kalimac’s maelstrom of a mind for a loop as he saw all the paths that lay before him dematerializing and materializing like fireflies in the night. He stood agape, utterly gone from sanity, as the elder drones on.

“Why any hobbit with even half the sense his mother gave him can see that a Whitfoot is about as suited for a journey of this type as an easy-chair. Sitting about in your comfortable holes all day, counting out the earnings that others with grit have made for you – that’s what you're good for.” The elder drew his almost narrative oration to a close, looking set in his decisions. Kalimac felt a vein on his neck throbbing unnaturally as one of his ears twitched, as they so often did.

“Now see here,” Roared Kalimac, suddenly feeling his voice, formerly hushed and meek, grow in volume and enraged splendor, “That is entirely uncalled for! You can insult me as much as you want, Mister Chubb, but, never make the mistake of insulting my family, my children, or my wife!”

He ranted on; moving forward slowly and nearing Fordogrim, as he summed his argument up, his voice swelled ten fold. The other hobbit seemed at least slightly reduced and Kalimac saw this as a good sign, so he moved, unfortunately, closer to his ‘opponent’ on this verbal field of battle. He saw too late the elder raising his cane and swiping it unintentionally near his own nose. To add to the cruelty of fate, it was at that moment that Kalimac chose to bow his head forward, making gestures like those he’s seen on the great orators and wandering speechmakers of Bree. The cane, as his wide eyes saw all too well, slapped right against Kalimac’s vulnerable nose. The hobbit stumbled back, clutching his now reddened nose angrily.

The cane’s thwacking against Kalimac’s face was not truly painful, but the hobbit could take no more of this. His small, usually pensive eyes, filled with unhobbit-like fire as he dove forward madly at the aged gentlehobbit, Fordogrim Chubb. The one hobbit’s cold fingers groped outward towards his foe’s open throat, though he missed miserably and only ended up fumbling forward awkwardly, his teeth grinding menacingly.

“YOU ADDLE-BRAINED OLD GOAT!” the usually reserved hobbit bellowed at the top of his small lungs, literally clamoring on top of poor Fordogrim. He would’ve punched himself in the round belly if he’d realized that he was attacking an elderly, venerable Halfling, but for once in his life, his thoughts leapt ahead of him as he half-tackled the grandfather, only to find his grasping, wrenching fingers filled with hobbit shirt collar, and his stomach filled with a well-aimed hobbit cane.

[Witch_Queen]

Sarah was already tired of the arguement. She knew the disagreement was long over due. "Elsa we aren't manipulating anyone here. MY CHILDREN ARE NOT YOURS TO CONTROL. We have worked your lands for you but when it comes to our children I want more for them than I do for myself. IF you are so full of yourself that you can't take a moment off of your little cloud to see that than you are a fool." Sarah didn't like to insult someone but when it came to her children she didn't care anymore. May and Henry was all she had besides Harold and Grandpa. Her family had left when she had gotten married. I want more for my children. After all they don't have everything I wish I could give them. Sarah wasn't going to back away from Elsa. She wasn't going to let some Fallohide take advantage of her family's graditude.

Sarah wouldn't have anyone talking bad to her father-in-law. They had their differences but still she wasn't going to stand back and do nothing. It was up to her to say something about what the arguement and now she wished she hadn't gotten into it. "Elsa my children deserve better than that. It was only right taht they are paid for doing anywork for it doesn't matter their station in life. My children deserve to be paid for their work." Sarah thought she had made her point a little clearer but wasn't sure.

[alaklondewen]

Memory of Tree's post

The rain suited May’s mood exactly. She sat outside the wagon, moody and silent as the cold rain soaked through her dress and petticoats and stockings. May was in what Henry called her “weird mood.” Periodically she got like this – sullen and silent, happy one moment, angry the next. As she sat there shivering and utterly miserable, May began to softly sing a non-sense ditty she had made up as a very little girl.

Plink, plunk-ity, plank,
The rain keeps falling down.
It drips and drops
And never ever stops
Until the sun comes back.
Plink, plunk-ity, plank!

Frigid water dripped down the back of her neck. She sighed drearily, then climbed up into the wagon to change into dry clothes. The Whitfoot children were supposed to be here any minute.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Alak's post: Henry Chubb

When they pulled into the campsite that night, Henry and May took up the responsibility of their contractual obligations with the Whitfoots. Crispin showed a bit of an attitude toward Henry and would not talk to him, and the older boy was certain this was merely the beginning of an unfortunate relationship between himself and the Whitfoot son. The Chubb offspring and Crispin had volunteered to help with the bonfire (Alora was the exception as she was sleeping soundly in the wagon), so they were not present when the argument broke out between their parents. Now the four, the children and their guardians, lined a small log, silently observing the madness that had overtaken the adults.

Henry began to wonder whether he and May were the only sane one’s left and was soon getting tired and irritated, not to mention embarrassed, by his parents’ behavior. Glancing at the other end of their bench, he was surprised to see May with an expression of pure entertainment. Was she enjoying this? Shaking his head in amazement, he turned his focus from the dispute and tried to find something else to amuse him. Most of the other settlers were either watching the Whitfoot-Chubb match. A few were resting in their wagons, doing their best to mind their own business, but no one was doing anything exciting. Even the Boffins were relatively somber.

Henry sent a fleeting look over his shoulder toward the forest that loomed behind them. He sure wanted to check that creepy old place out. Looking around him, from his parents to the nearest adults and then to May, he decided if he was going to be able to do some exploring…the time was now.

“Hey, Crispin,” Henry nudged the soon-to-be adolescent trying to sound upbeat, as much as knew how to be upbeat anyway. The boy just looked at him without answering. “Do ya like to explore?” Crispin’s eyes widened. Henry had his attention now. “Wanna check out the forest?”

“Sure!” Crispin quickly agreed and hopped off the log.

“What are you doing?” May questioned them with a hint of suspicion in her voice.

“We’re just going to do some exploring,” Henry shrugged off his sister’s penetrating eyes. “No big deal, Sis. Wanna come?”

“I do!” Alora excitedly stood up on the log, jumped off, and grabbed her brother’s hand.

“Where are you going, Henry?” May was not letting them get away that easily.

“Just around the edge of the forest, that’s all. Come on, May…it’ll be fun.”

“Henry, you know that’s not a good idea. Mr. Whitfoot’d skin you alive if he found out you were taking his kids into that forest.”

“He’s not going to find out,” Henry said simply, throwing another look toward the adults. “You can come or not, Mayflower, but we’re going.” With that Henry grabbed Alora’s other hand, and the threesome quickly and quietly made their way into the forest.

[Melisil]

For most of the day Alora and her family had been traveling somewhat wearily in the rain. Her parents both seemed tired, and weren't smiling. Crispin wasn't smiling for that matter either, but having him beside her made her feel safer in the rain anyways. Personally, Alora acually loved the rain. The only part about it she didn't like was the cold it brought. She sat in a corner of her family's uncovered cart, blankets piled on top of her for the whole trip. She just laughed at the tickling feeling the rain played on her face.

By the time they arrived at what she was told was going to be their camp for the night it was still raining. Alora couldn't tell you that though as she had fallen asleep only a half hour earlier, and as she was peacefull there on the cart, no one woke her.

Alora dreamed peacefully of playing in a stream that was by a new house, Alora had guessed it was where they were going. She awoke to find both her parents, and the Chubb grownups yelling at each other something horrid. The yelling scared Alora. It scared her in a way she hardly knew before. She jumped quickly out of the wagon and over to Crispin. She grabbed her big brothers arm. "Why are they fighting Crispin?" she asked in almost a shriek (because of fear).

"They're fighting over grownup stuff Alora, you wouldn't understand." came Crispin's reply.

Alora couldn't tell what tone Crispin had used at her, and this only added to her fear. She watched as their parents fury grew. "Make it stop Crispin, please!"

Crispin looked down at his sister, "Don't worry Alora, it'll be ok. I'm here, and mum and dad won't be fighting for long." Crispin's words comforted Alora greatly. She held tight to her brothers arm, still unsure what to do, but calmer none the less.

Although she hadn't noticed it at first, being distracted by her parents arguments, Henry and May Chubb were sitting down on on log next to them. Although slightly startled by this, Alora supposed they were doing the thing called babysitting her father had talked to her about. She was still rather confused by what the term babysitting meant, though she supposed it meant they would be sitting on babys.

Temporarily distracted from her parents arguments, Alora made her way over to May. "Um, May." she started shyly, "pardon, but where are all the babys your supposed to be sitting on?"

May Chubb looked at her confused for a moment, before responding with a laugh, "Babysitting means that we're watching you and your brother, Alora." Alora was taken aback by this response, so instead of trying to work it out, she sat down on the log next to the two Chubbs, and waited for Crispin to sit aswell.

After a minute of sitting silently, puzzling over the term 'babysitting', Henry Chubb stood up, and asked Crispin if he would like to go exploring, at which, Crispin responded with a yes. Alora, not wanting to be left out of the fun, jumped up aswell and cried out, "I want to go too!"

Henry smiled at this, but May told him that, for some reason which had to do with Alora's daddy, they shouldn't go. "Why can't we go?" Alora asked, totally lost as to why they couldn't explore, "We're allowed to go 'sploring at home."

[Regin Hardhammer]

At first, Harold was puzzled when Kalimac called him over demanding to know what he had told Elsa about the babysitting and the money given to the children. For one moment, Harold stood to the side, trying to sort out everything inside his head. I don’t understand why Kalimac is getting mad at me. I was only trying to be polite.

His intention had not been to start trouble, but now a huge fight had erupted causing the entire camp to come to a screeching halt. Harold tried to defend his actions, but every thing he said seemed to be twisted and came out sounding differently. Worst of all, everyone was looking at them. Elsa and Sarah were waving their arms and trading sharp remarks. Grandpa Fordo’s leg appeared to be completely healed as he sprinted forward and scuffled valiantly with Kalimac. Kalimac seemed to be getting the worst of it and was whacked on the back by his father's cane which had accidentally loosened from Fordogrim's feeble grip.

This has gone far enough, thought Harold. I must help put an end to this nonsense. By nature, he was a peaceful Hobbit, and considered violence a waste of energy. Harold walked up to Fordogrim and Kalimac hoping to separate the two and bring them to their senses. He did not think that his elderly father would fare well if Kalimac decided to retaliate.

Before Harold could put his plan into operation, Kalimac let out a loud cry “YOU ADDLE-BRAINED OLD GOAT,” and charged forward, knocking Harold's father to the ground. Kalimak loomed over the aged Fordogrim, his hand grasping the older Hobbit's shirt. The calm, reasonable Harold felt a knot of rage swelling up inside his stomach and then spreading out through his entire body. Nobody calls my father an addle-brained old goat, even though he sometimes may act like it.


Growing up, Harold had participated in a few fistfights and minor scuffles with other Harfoot lads in his neighborhood. But he'd made a point to steer clear of the richer Fallohides whose burrows were located in the wealthier sections of town. After coming of age and settling down, he had few disagreements with the Whitfoots. When differences arose, he'd generally backed down and complied with their requests. None of these scenes had ever turned violent, or even terribly angry. This time, however, he could not contain his rage. Charging head on like a ram, Harold bellowed, “Kalimac, you can whine to me how you got in trouble with your wife because you didn’t tell her about the babysitting money, but you can not insult my father.”

Harold let out a deafening roar, which if he had been cool headed, would have surprised even the humble Hobbit himself. This should teach that cocky, rich landowner that he can not step on my family and get away with it. Blinded by ire, Harold pinned Kalimac to the ground and lifted his chubby fist high in the air, starting to bring it down with great force right in the center of the rich Hobbit’s face.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Four swift dark shadows padded noiselessly over the North Downs and then slipped into an isolated wood thicket, scouring the land for any scent of prey. The pickings from the night before had been pitifully few. There had been no deer or ferral pigs; they had been compelled to make do with one tiny coney whose body had been greedily devoured. The empty feeling in their bellies drove the pack onward towards the ancient Forest, a territory they usually avoided. Desperate to find something to eat, they put aside normal caution and ventured onto unfamiliar ground, hoping that the pickings would be better there.

Grog halted for a moment under a low craggy overhang and sat on his haunches, signalling the others to do the same. A lean scarred bundle of muscle and grit, leader of the pack, he cocked his head to one side and sniffed the night air to try and determine what lay ahead. A sudden breeze carried faint scents from the south, a strange yet familiar odor that he could not quite place.

"Two-leggeds?" Aisha queried, flinging a probing eye at Grog. "Men or Orcs? They make poor hunting and worse eating." She spat the words onto the ground with undisguised contempt.

None of the pack wanted to deal with Orcs or Men. They'd had too many bad encounters. Their own band had once included twelve wolves and several pups. Two-leggeds and their infernal wars had made their lives a misery in the far north. All the plump livestock and even the deer had been killed off by marauding soldiers. Six of their own number had died, clubbed down by a band of raiding Orcs who had dismembered the carcasses with fierce, bloody hands and eaten them raw. Aisha quivered at the memory of her lost brothers and sisters.

Grog smelled again and then smiled as the meaning of the scent became clear. His nostrils widened as he drew the air in, tasting it on his tongue. "No, these are not Men or Orcs. I have seen their kind before: small things that go on two legs, plump and tasty, and not so large or fierce as the others. Just right for a pack such as ours."

Grog leaned his head back and howled at the moon in triumph, anticipating his victory meal. The other three did the same. Then the band silently got to its feet and, following the scent, descended towards the target at a dead run.

[ArwenBaggins]

Crispin's grip was taught on his sister's hand. Even though he felt foolish by holding hands with a girl (even a little one), he knew that if she was lost or hurt he'd be doom. And with his father and mother in the raged state that they were, getting in trouble probably wasn't such a good idea...

As they entered the forest, Crispin pulled his spitty hay from his mouth and shoved it in his vest pocket. "Crispin, it's dark in here," Alora tightened her grip on her older brother's hand and wimpered.

"Aw, c'mon Alora. We 'xplore all tha time at home. This is just like home... only alot bigger. No, don't cry!" His sister puckered her lip and looked up to him with watery blue eyes. Sighing advertly, he looked down at her. "D'you want a piggy-back ride?" The little giggled and jumped up and down.

Bending down, he allowed Alora to get on his back. Henry smiled at him and Crispin tried to smile back. He hadn't relized how heavy Alora was getting.

[Witch_Queen]

Sarah turned around to see that Harold was about to punch Kalimac. As much as she wanted to see something happen to their landowner Sarah couldn't bring herself to see someone else hurt the hobbit. "Harold don't do it!" Her scream broke through the air and everything went silent for a moment. "Don't let your anger get the best of you." She walked over and began to stop the fight but quickly turned around and looked at Elsa. It was all this womans fault that Harold was angry.

Sarah changed her mind about stoping her husband. The way he defended his father only made Sarah love him even more. It wasn't everyday that she had a chance to see her husband in action. "Elsa Whitfoot... it is your fault that my Harold is about to give Kalimac a black eye. I just hope you can live with yourself after this is over with you cocky git." Sarah didn't go off on anyone at the drop of a hat. It took them insulting one of her family members.

Sarah walked over to Fordo. "Father Chubb are you ok?" She needed to calm down before she too began to take a tumble with Elsa. Sarah thought that Fordo was going to pummle Kalimac with his cane. The show would have been good to see. Sarah regreted her decision to leave her home. "Fordo you and Harold was right we shouldn't have left home. Though this fued is long over do. I still wish you hadn't of listened to me. All I do is run my mouth about how I want more." Sarah looked around to see if she could see her children. All four of the little hobbits were gone.

May and Henry are doing their job. The one we are now disputing about. For some reason it would have been best if they had decided that they didn't want to babysit for the Whitfoots. Sarah turned back to the rest of the adults. She wondered if she should make a final attempt to break them up. The fight had became more than just your normal shouting match, this time it was personal. Sarah wasn't going to let the others blame her husband for anything. After all if Kalimac had told his good-for-nothing wife perhaps this wouldn't have happened. Sarah placed her hand around her neck and noticed that her beloved necklace was gone. She wanted to break down into tears, that was the only thing she had gotten in a few years from Harold. I hope I didn't loose it.... Oh wait its in the cart. At least thats where it better be.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Uninvited guests....

Almost as one, the members of the pack veered southward towards the source of the scent, trotting swiftly along the rocky ridges of the hills until they came to the place where the strange two-leggeds had gathered in great numbers. The band approached down wind of the Hobbits. There were dozens of wagons and small campfires spread out along the side of the road. Evidently, the fools had not even bothered to post a sentry. Everyone inside the camp was paying close attention to a few of their companions who were squabbling over something, and did not hear or see what was happening just a few paces distant. Grog could glimpse a dog or two lounging about the camp but these were beasts for herding rather than guarding, and were unlikely to offer much resistence.

The youngest of the wolves gave a whine of eagerness as he saw the plump, unarmed figures going about their business, totally unaware that they were being stalked. Aisha snapped her head about and issued a stern warning growl to her brother, and then all was silent.

The moon had slipped behind a cloud and all was dark in camp. The earth was bathed in an eerie grayness. Grog's shaggy coat, and that of the other wolves, blended in perfectly with the shadows. The only thing that could be seen, even from some paces distant, were matching pairs of greedy yellow eyes blazing in the night.

Still, Grog hesitated to attack. The two-leggeds looked harmless enough, but there were too many of them. Even though he might succeed in bringing down several of his victims, other two-leggeds would run over and strike a blow to defend their kin, before they could drag the bodies away.

"Too many! Too many!" Grog muttered shaking his head. He had never seen such a large assemblage of two-leggeds in one place. Their numbers were even greater than the bands of soldiers and roving Orcs that he'd known from the North. Leaning down to Aisha, he growled a warning, "Too many to attack here! Surely one of these fools has left the site to gather firewood or hunt some game. We will slink through to the spot where the forest runs up beside the road and track down their scent."

With that the pack took off, steering around the back of the wagons on silent, padding feet. After entering the tangled thicket of trees, Grog placed his nose to the ground and trotted about in wide circles until he found the particular trail on which the four children had left the camp only a few moments before. Grog quickly sensed that these were young littermates, who probably could not defend themselves in any way. Unable to hide his pleasure at the smell of easy prey, Grog let out a howl of triumph, in which the others quickly joined. Then he turned and made his way down the trail, all the while sniffing at the ground so as not to lose the scent. The others followed behind him, their red tongues lolling out of their mouths in anticipation of the feast that was sure to follow.

[alaklondewen]

“This has gone on long enough,” Marcho groaned to his lovely wife you sat beside him on the back of their wagon. Estella’s brother had found himself in the center of what was becoming an all-out brawl, and Marcho was tired of watching their ruckus behavior. He was going to put a stop to it now, before the argument became violent. What happened in the moments following Marcho’s decision and when he actually arrived on the battle zone occurred so swiftly, it was a blur in the scout’s mind. Old Fordogrim Chubb, either intentionally or not, whacked Kalimac directly in the nose. An action that resulted in an outbreak of violence that concluded with the Chubb father sitting on Kalimac, who was about to receive a good pounding.

“That’s enough!” The scout growled and caught hold of Harold’s arm as it swung downward. Harold struggled momentarily against Marcho’s grip, but the scout was sturdy enough to be able to drag the Chubb from his brother-in-law. “Would you look at yourselves? All of you!” He was about to tell them how they were all acting like fools, when a ghastly howl was heard nearby. The scout froze in his tracks and spoke not. Kalimac started to speak, but Marcho hushed him and listened intently. The bay came from just inside the forest, not 10 yards from where they stood.

Slowly, steadily Marcho unsheathed his knife. “Wolves…” he finally whispered. Regaining his wit, he ordered the men to get their weapons out. “Estella, Elsa, Sarah. Get the kids and get them to your wagons…now.” The scout did not take his eyes from the darkness under the trees, but the command in his voice was enough to get the adults moving.

[Kransha]

The world spun mercilessly as the situation spiraled further. Kalimac, who’d fancied himself in control of the situation, found himself beneath a seething Harfoot with a pulled back fist, namely Harold Chubb. Luckily, before any further physical engagement could occur, an unseen force hauled the Harfoot of him. He remained floored, reclined on the ground in awe and bewilderment as heard the mingled voices of Sarah Chubb, followed soon after by his half-brother, Marcho Bolger himself. Kalimac looked on, seemingly immobilized by simple, outright confusion.

“Would you look at yourselves? All of you!” chided the Fallohide scout, stabilizing the spinning world.

Kalimac, looking oddly dejected, scrambled to his feet like a child caught in a brawl. He promptly began to smooth his ruffled feathers and sweep the dust and soot of earth from his fine clothing. He scowled as his composure returned, the glinting corners of his eyes openly glaring at Fordogrim Chubb. His gaze turned to an ornery looking Sarah Chubb, then his wife, then the defiant employee of his who had taken him so aback by attacking him just now. The Fallohide would’ve continued his avid defense if the scout, Marcho, hadn’t quickly hushed him. He noted that he must’ve missed something in the rustling of his ascension from the ground, since the others seemed to be looking fearfully in the direction of Marcho and the woods. He wasn’t sure what, but he feigned the same befuddlement that he saw in their wide eyes. The eerie silence was broken by Marcho’s dark whisper, “Wolves…” Kalimac didn’t respond, watching as Marcho instantly took charge.

“Estella, Elsa, Sarah. Get the kids and get them to your wagons…now” the scout said urgently. Despite the alarm in his voice and the apparent presence of foul beasts, Kalimac felt like no more could go wrong in this wretched day. As he’d been told, there is sometimes nothing one can do in a situation but grin and bear it, so the resilient Fallohide did. Though it was hard, he managed to crack a grin.

“Alright then,” Kalimac almost interrupted, still dusting himself off disdainfully, “this unhappy incident can be forgotten, I hope.” He turned, looking pleasant again, to his wife, “Elsa, get Alora and Crispin and…”

Kalimac’s eyes had just completed their full scan of the surrounding vicinity. He looked over, rotating on his heels slowly to see all, at the entire area. It was now that he realized, with a mixture of shock, confusion, and horror, that neither of his offspring where anywhere to be seen. He stood, staring out at the others with a hanging jaw for a time before words formed in his mouth.

“Elsa….where are Alora and Crispin?” he murmured, his face slated. Something else had gone wrong.

[Arestevana]

“Estella, Elsa, Sarah. Get the kids and get them to your wagons…now.” Marcho’s voice was closely echoed by Kalimac’s.
“Elsa, get Alora and Crispin and…”
Elsa did not wait for the rest of the command. The first sound of the wolves had shaken her badly. She glanced around, somewhat surprised when she did not immediately see the children. Surely they would have come running when they heard the wolves?
“Elsa….where are Alora and Crispin?” Kalimac asked quietly. Elsa’s heart leapt to her throat. “What?” she asked shakily. “They’re not… not here?” The wolves howled again, and Elsa’s hands started to tremble violently. Where are Alora and Crispin? She ran back to their wagon as quickly as she could, but the children were not anywhere nearby. As shouts echoed around the campsite, it became clear that neither the Whitfoot children nor their assigned supervisors were with the caravan.
Another howl emanated from the woods and Elsa gave a small, frightened sob. What if the wolves found Alora and Crispin before she could? She ran several hysterical circles of the campsite, calling for the children to no avail. Returning to the place where most of the others had gathered, she tried to get a grip on herself. Marcho was organizing a small group of armed adults to go into the forest. Resisting the urge to cry, Elsa hurried back over to the wagon and pulled a broom out from under the seat.
When she returned to the group, she firmly stood up to Kalimac’s protests, and ignored the hints of smiles on several faces. She was not going to allow the wolves to harm her children. I suppose I do look like an idiot; amongst all these folk with their knives and hatchets, what use is a broom? I just wish I weren’t so terrified.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim’s head was still reeling from the rapid turn of events when the chilling sound of wolves in full hunt cut his mind like ragged glass through cloth. He had, in his youth, wandered the lands to the East of Bree, and in that time he had heard such sounds on more than one lonely night. Once, in the distance and lit only by the sickly glow of a waning moon, he had seen a pack of wolves attack and tear apart a deer. For years afterward the memory had been with him as a vivid reminder of life beyond the confines of the life he knew with his people in his own homeland. This time, however, the sound was so close that he fancied he could smell death on the wolves’ very breath. All about him hobbits were turning pale and quivering at the sound, for most of them had never been beyond the hedgerows of their fields, or the safety of the city gates after dark. Marcho alone seemed unafraid of the demons in the dark, and stepped forward with his blade drawn. He ordered the families to seek shelter in their carts, for once showing the kind of hobbit sense that Fordogrim was sure had deserted the fellow before undertaking this journey.

There was a sudden commotion among the Whitfoots. He head somebody cry out that their children were missing. At almost the same moment, his Sarah uttered such a gasp that the sound of her terror tore at Fordogrim’s heart. “Harold!” she cried “May and Henry are gone! You don’t think they would have wandered off into. . .” but she was cut off by yet another bloodsoaked howl from the dark.

Harold looked about wildly, calling out for his children, but his voice fell flat and pale into the gathering night. A general hue and cry was sent round for the missing children but it quickly became apparent that they were no longer with the convoy. Marcho was the first to react, ordering all the capable adults to arm themselves and to follow him into the forest. Fordogrim whistled for Stout, and the pony stamped to him as though it were twenty years and fifty pounds ago. The pain in his leg made mounting difficult but he managed it with only one substantial grunt. Gathering up the reins in one hand and wielding his cane in the other he pointed Stout’s head toward the darkness that lay beneath the forest leaves. He had never been more scared in his life, but the thought of his beloved May somewhere in the dark with none to protect her but little Henry and those good-for-nothing Whitfoot children was more than his simple heart could bear. He was no fool, he did not think that he was a match for any wolf he might meet – but at the very least he might prove a more tempting prey than his young and energetic grandchildren.

Stout, too, was terrified, for he had spent his life carrying his elderly master to and from town, and doing little heavy labour. But such was his love for Fordogrim that he was willing to face the fangs and claws that awaited him. He snorted with all the determination of his stout heart and turned his head to the woods. But Harold stepped into their path and grabbed Stout’s bridle.

Fordogrim looked down at his son and cried out, “Son, I’ve never so much as raised my hand to you and I don’t relish the thought of a-doing it now. But if you don’t let go of my Stout, and right quickly, then as I loved your mother I swears you’ll feel the weight of my cane on your head!”

"Father! Don't be ridiculous, we'll use all the help we can get. Just please stay close to me in there!" And with that, Harold rushed to Daisy and began freeing her from the traps. As soon as the draft pony was out, Harold leaped upon her back, and together the father and son turned their mounts toward the woods.

Fordogrim urged Stout on with great spurring kicks, and as they reached the edge of the Forest he brandished his cane above his head and cried out, “I’m a-coming for you, you bloodthirsty villains!”

[Child of the 7th Age]

The wolves hot on the trail.....

Spurred on by the insistent clamoring of their stomachs, the wolves paced greedily forward with noses poised close to the ground, as their tales swept rhythmically back and forth in anticipation of the feast that was soon to follow. The trail of the two-leggeds was maddeningly fresh amid the bracken and fallen leaves, even more so than what would have been the case with Orcs or Men who customarily wore boots upon their feet. Every step Grog took brought him closer to the spot where the children had halted for a moment, sitting down on a fallen log to rest and to rearrange the few items and foodstuffs they had carried along in their small packs.

The band approached the grove on silent padding feet as Grog gave the signal to the others to spread out in a circle and crouch low in the grass so that the two-leggeds would not spy them. With his nose eagerly twitching and his ears cocked forward, he peered out above the line of grass to see who was there and assess the layout of the land. Although Grog was no expert on Hobbits, even he could guess that the four seated on the logs were not full-grown but mere cubs, easy pickings for their attack. Two were younger, two older.
He decided to go for the big ones first as the smaller cubs would likely panic and be totally unable to fight back once they'd wrestled the older ones to the ground. Just as he was about to give the signal for the others to spring, he caught another scent carried over from a nearby breeze. Some paces distant, approaching from the opposite side, he could see a solitary figure crawling along the ground, apparently another two-legger who didn't want to be seen by the four in the grove.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Grog found himself chuckling. There were two parties of stalkers, not one, intent on hunting the four two-leggeds who were utterly oblivious to the presence of either. The interloper was a large cub but Grog was confident that he could take them all down at once. Still, he was curious to see what would happen, and it would be easier to attack if all five were situated in the same secluded grove.

Sitting back on his haunches, he gave a signal to the others to hold off for a moment until they could determine just what this young cub intended to do.

[Kransha]

Kalimac watched wordlessly as Elsa scrambled around the camp, yelling fearfully for their children. He knew instinctively they were not there as he saw Elsa head back to the wagon. A mixture of fury and utter befuddlement rang like a cornucopia of incessantly chiming bells in his head as more paths were blocked up. His mind briefly flitted to reasons and conclusions, thinking about why his children were gone and what he would do when he found them, but soon enough fear and concern clouded his view as he saw his wife brandishing a broom at the woodlands ferociously. Kalimac, barely having time to think, raised his voice in protest but didn’t get a word out before Elsa stormed past him.

He knew she wouldn’t let those beasts hurt a hair on their children’s’ heads but he couldn’t let her throw her life away battling a bunch of wolves with a broomstick. Instead of cutting her off immediately, the Fallohide sprinted nimbly over to the Whitfoot wagon nearby. He literally pulled Staddle out of his conspiracy with the other pony at his side and yanked the animal free of its holdings. A second later, the hobbit had clamored onto Staddle and groped in the wagon hay for his bow. He extracted the fine, slender piece of oak and his unruly quiver before wheeling Staddle around and goading it quickly towards the woods.

The mounted Halfling quickly rounded on Elsa, blocking her path with the horse.

“Elsa, I know you want our children safe, but don’t go doing anything rash. You would do best to stay here, or at least remain near Marcho. I want both our children and you do be safe, Elsa.”

Even though he had a feeling his wife had some retort waiting, Kalimac was too concerned and, in truth, utterly terrified to listen. His firmness reinstating itself, the hobbit once again prodded Staddle towards the border of the dense thickets and underbrush that pockmarked the side of the forest. He could see Harold and Fordogrim on their mounts, which had headed out as he was speaking. His darkened eyes narrowing at the Chubb father and grandfather, he pulled himself and his Staddle in between them swiftly.

“I’m a-coming for you, you bloodthirsty villains!” said Fordogrim defiantly to the looming trees.

“Not alone, you aren’t.” said Kalimac coldly as he passed Fordogrim’s mount and swiveled around it, “This is as much my problem as it is yours, so you’ll kindly allow us other humble hobbits to participate in your little escapade.” The red-faced Halfling snapped the last words at Fordogrim, feeling the phantom sting of that cane on his nose and the fist that almost made contact with his face earlier.

[ArwenBaggins]

Crispin stopped walking and lowered himself so his sister could dismount from her piggy-back ride. He straightened his back and rubbed it like an old man, the searing pain from his little sister's weight diverging through his whole body.

He then heard a low, mournful howl from somewhere behind them. He looked to Henry for a second, but looked away again when he decided that the two older hobbits hadn't heard it and he would be the big brave one if he confronted the beast. Letting go of Alora's small hand, he picked up a small branch that was laying in a mushroom patch. He at first wanted to bend down and pick the moursels, but decided against it. Flinging the stick hand to hand, he crept toward a large hackberry bush.

Another howl was heard, this time ear-shattering and longer. Alora chirped and ran toward Crispin, grabbing his free hand and dragging him back toward May and Henry with all of her might. "Alora! Stop it!" He tugged free and started poking the bush again. Crispin jumped slightly and pushed Alora behind him when something scampered from the bush. Noticing that it was only a small gray squirrel, he wiped his forehead quickly and pretended nothing had happened. Yet another howl broke through the trees, this time closer and more menacing. He grabbed Alora's hand and pulled the girl toward the older hobbits, comforting her as best he could in his now-frightened state. Can't let'm know I'm scared, or they'll think I'm some crybaby.... He yanked his piece of straw from the pocket of his vest and shoved it back into his mouth, his ears and eyes wide as more and more howls erupted from all around them.

[Memory of Trees]

What on earth was that racket? May poked her head out of the wagon canvass, and her eyes grew round as she viewed an all-out brawl taking place not far away. Between her parents and the Whitfoots! Who would have thought? May couldn’t tell what they were fighting about, and, oddly enough, she didn’t really want to know. She had a suspicious feeling that the argument might have something to do with four shiny copper coins.

And in that moment, May realized something that had been growing on her mind ever since they had left Bree. Sure, she wanted things to change, and sure, she disliked the Whitfoots and the others like them. But she never wanted to hurt anyone. Fighting wasn’t the way to make things change.

It occurred to May to wonder where this sudden burst of tranquility had come from. Not from Grandpa Fordo, surely, and probably not her mother either, by the looks of things. She didn’t know, but I think that if Granpa Fordo could have seen her right at that moment, and heard what she was thinking, he would have said she looked exactly like her grandmother Primrose had once.

May was startled by a yell from Henry. “May, they’re coming!” he shouted, brown curls plastered to his head and eyes bright with badly concealed excitement. “I can see them coming, May,” he said again.

“Alright, I’m coming,” she huffed, hopping off the back of the wagon. There, coming towards them from across the soaked campsite, were two children – a boy about Henry’s age, and a little girl who couldn’t have been more than seven. As they came closer, May thought the scowling boy looked like trouble, but she couldn’t deny that the little girl was so cute her icy disdain began to melt a bit. Not much, but a little.

The four children stood silent for a moment, eyeing each other warily. Then the older Whitfoot announced rather sullenly, “My name is Crispin. I’m almost thirteen, and I don’t need a babysitter.” Henry’s frown deepened.

“I’m Alora,” the little girl piped up. She looked confused, and leaning close to May she whispered loudly, “Pardon, where are the babies you’re supposed to be sitting on?” Henry and Crispin howled with laughter, and May couldn’t resist a smile.

“Babysitting means we’re watching you and your brother, Alora,” she said, gently ruffling the little girls flaxen hair. Alora still looked a little puzzled, but this answer seemed to satisfy her.

May saw Henry and Crispin standing awkwardly beside each other, each stealing quick glances at one another when they thought the other wasn’t looking. She elbowed her brother, whispering through her teeth, “Say something to him, Henry.”

Henry scowled at her, but turned and said smilingly to Crispin, “Hey, Crispin, ya like to explore?” The younger boy’s eyes widened as he nodded yes. “Wanna check out the forest?”

“Sure!” Crispin quickly agreed and hopped off the log.

Henry gave May a defient, mischevious glance, and she hissed loudly through her teeth with frustration. “What are you doing?”

“We’re just going to do some exploring,” Henry shrugged off his sister’s penetrating eyes. “No big deal, Sis. Wanna come?”

“I do!” Alora excitedly stood up on the log, jumped off, and grabbed her brother’s hand.

May narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Where are you going, Henry?” she asked warningly.

“Just around the edge of the forest, that’s all. Come on, May…it’ll be fun.” Henry was using that wheedling tone he employed when trying to get his mother to do what he wanted. That was a bad move, because May hated it when he did that. Besides, little red flags were flying up in her mind. She kept her tone calm and polite for the Whitfoots.

“Henry, you know that’s not a good idea. Mr. Whitfoot’d skin you alive if he found out you were taking his kids into that forest.”

“Why can’t we ‘splore?” little Alora asked, tugging on her sleeve. “We do at home.” He had them completely won over.

“He’s not going to find out,” Henry said simply, throwing another look toward the adults. “You can come or not, Mayflower, but we’re going.” He glared obstinantly at her.

May could have screamed in frustration. She had seen Henry like this a hundred times before, and she knew that nothing she could do would change his mind. The three children started off towards the woods, but they were going slowly, halting every few steps, and May knew they were waiting for her to make up her mind.

Well, she couldn’t exactly let them wander off on their own, could she? At least this way she could keep them from doing anything too stupid. Wordlessly, May stood up and took Alora’s hand from Henry. He have her a triumphant grin.

May leaned over close to her brother, whispering venomously so that only he could hear, “Yeah, I’m coming to make sure you don’t kill yourselves. But you just wait until I tell our daddy what you did, Henry Chubb. I’ll be surprised if you can sit down for a week!”

That made Henry a little nervous, but not enough to make him stop smirking. And May thought she saw him mouth as he turned his head away, “Tattletale.” She ground her teeth.

And all the while the four children were getting closer and closer to the forest.

[alaklondewen]

Ummph! All of the air in the round hobbit’s lungs was forced from his body as he thudded against the damp and unyielding forest floor. Sweeping his unruly red curls from his forehead, he managed to smear the mud, which was now caked on the palms of both of his hands, across his face and into his hair. He could feel the coolness of the wet mud seeping through is breeches. Cursing under his breath, he swore if his clothes were ruined those Chubb brats would work off their cost. “With interest,” he snarled. It was their fault he was out here tramping through the woods, unaccompanied, in the dark, and now his expensive attire was soiled. They, that Henry and Mayflower Chubb, always seemed to be having some sort of fun, and they certainly had never asked him to join them. Who did they think they were? They’re nobody, just a couple of ruggers. But he, he was a Fallohide, from a prosperous family. Why his daddy was going to run the show when they got to the new land. He’d work for his father, of course, and be above those Chubbs, as if he wasn’t already. They should be so lucky as to have him around to befriend. The only choice he had was to follow them on this little escapade through the forest and demand he be allowed to join once he caught up to them. They couldn’t refuse…not with his reputation.

Pushing his weight up with his arms, he tried to get up from the ground, but immediately tripped again and landed in the same place. It was as if the trees themselves were tripping him. They’d better not try to hurt me, he thought. Daddy, would just hire some Big Folk to cut them trees down. They’d be sorry then.

Crawling along as quickly and soundlessly as he could was proving to be a rather difficult task. Every once in a while, his knees would slip and his belly would drag on the floor, but he could hear their voices just ahead, so he kept on creeping up as best he could. The element of surprise would surely seal the deal. He’d have them where he wanted, and then he'd spring out from behind a tree. The tween chuckled to himself.

Then, from the shadows beyond his prey, a series of blood-curdling howls froze the hobbit in his tracks. He could feel the hair rise on his toes. Darting his eyes to and fro, he saw nothing but shadows within shadows. As he contemplated his next course of action, sweat began to bead along his forehead and his heart seemed to be beating in his throat. Sheer panic overcame him, and he leapt to his feet and stumbled through the trees yelping as he went. “Help! Help! Henry, May! Help!” As he tottered into the small grove where the young hobbits were resting, four shocked faces turned to him wide-eyed.

“Why, Adelard Proudfoot, what is the matter with you and why are you making all that noise?” Mayflower Chubb stood and immediately confronted the hobbit.

Adelard stopped short, realizing his utter foolishness, and tried to regain his composure. Placing his hands on his hips, he straightened his face and stuck his short nose in the air. “I knew you’d be scared of those wolves out there, and I knew you’d be scared of me too if I came runnin’ through here. And you were too, I know it!” Yup, they wouldn’t think he was the one that was afraid now. Yet May tipped her head to one side and looked at him disapprovingly. That May, she sure is pretty…for a rugger anyway.

************************************************** ********

ArwenBaggins' post for Crispin:


“An’ who are you?” Crispin narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow toward the newcomer. Anyone who was going to come and barge in on what was going to be his chance to save everyone needed to be set straight.

The new hobbit took his eyes off May for a second and straightened his coat, trying to indicate his conceited authority. “I am Adelard Proudfoot,” He looked over to Crispin and frowned; Crispin could have sworn he saw and heard a snarl.

Tightening his grip on the stick he held white-knuckled, another unnerving howl was emitted from the dark wood around them. Ruffling Alora’s hair and giving off a fake smile, he held his sister’s hand as if it was the only thing in the world to hold on too. Don’ let’m know I’m scared. I’m a Whitfoot… we don’ get scared in the woods! He cleared his throat and cast a swift glance to Adelard, huffing angrily at the new hobbit that seemed to be competition.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold watched as Grandpa Fordo raised his cane valiantly over his head and issued a challenge to the wolves lurking in the forest. Although he did not say so aloud, Harold completely agreed with his father’s sentiments. The Harfoot was not an aggressive Hobbit by nature, except when the safety of his children was in jeopardy. His family was the most important thing that he had, and he was not going to sit idle while wolves gobbled up May and Henry. Those scoundrels had better flee while they can, thought Harold, before I get to them and make them feel sorry.

Astride Daisy, Harold rode towards the dismal forest. He gritted his teeth in frustration to hear Kalimac’s sardonic reply to the passionate challenge of Grandpa Fordo. Harold hardly regarded this as an “escapade”, as Kalimac had so coolly put it. As Kalimac passed Fordo who was riding on Stout, Harold thought he saw the Fallohide stick his nose high into the air

How can he let old disputes impede our progress when our children’s lives are at stake? Maybe he should put his pride away for a moment and concentrate on finding our young ones!

Now, more than ever, Harold hoped that May and Henry were doing their job. When he’d told them that they’d be responsible for the Whitfoot children he never imagined that something like this would happen. They’re good lads and lasses; they’ll be fine, Harold told himself. He sincerely hoped that the four children were the only ones trapped in the forest.

Reaching into his pocket, Harold fingered his trusty sling as well as a few rocks that he had gathered by the road. In Bree, he had been quite the expert with it, using the weapon to pick off crows from Kalimac’s vegetable patch even from a great distance. Somehow Harold figured that these animals would be more difficult to subdue than a mere witless crow. He had also draped his scythe over his shoulder suspended from a rope, the one he used to cut grain in the fields back home. Back then, he couldn’t have imagined using it to fight for the lives of his children, nor did he ever want to be asked to do so again.

As the Hobbits proceeded onward, Harold became anxiously aware of the dark trees looming above. The forest was a quilt of shadow and mystery and seemed mysteriously frightening, perhaps even more so than normal because of the terrifying ordeal that lay ahead of him. But Harold suppressed his fear with anger, which flowed like a river through him. Those wolves will not lay a single paw on any of the children, vowed Harold. I may not be the strongest Hobbit, but I certainly am the most determined you are ever likely to meet. With a fervor, Harold entered the gloomy wood, his father riding beside him. For once in his life, Harold reflected, he and his father saw things exactly the same.

[Memory of Trees]

May could sense a growing air of unease the deeper into the forest they got. A continual stream of complaints were running through her head. This is stupid, Henry. It's wet, it's cold, it's creepy. You don't have to prove to them you're tough. This is stupid. But she didn't say it out loud - something stopped her. This is Henry's way of showing he's better than them, she thought. I have my way, he has his. He needs to impress them. So she kept her mouth shut.

May was surprised how much darker it actually was in the forest, and she wasn't pleased by it. She was not scared, but all her instincts were screaming that this was wrong, wrong, wrong, this shouldn't be happening, we shouldn't be doing this.

And then the howles began. Murderous, blood-curdling howls, and although Mayflower had never before heard a wolf, she knew that's what it must be. But as of yet, she still wasn't frightened.

May turned to see Crispin and Alora running to catch up. What was she doing? She was supposed to be watching them! "Stay with the group," she snapped as they reached her. Crispin looked scared, and so did Alora.

Another howl, closer this time. Alora whimpered and buried her head in her brother's shirt. "Henry, stop," she said firmly, taking the little hobbit's hand. "We're going to take a rest, and then we are turning right around and going straight back to the camp. Do you hear me, Henry?" Her brother agreed - he didn't look too eager to press forward himself.

They sat down in a small clearing and rested their backs against the wide trees. To her surprise, Alora strayed a little from her brother's side to lean against May's welcome shoulder, and she didn't push her away. She wouldn't have, not in a million years.

Was someone crying? May glanced down at Alora, but her face was dry. Crispin? Henry? And then a fat young hobbit charged into the clearing, bellowing at the top of his lungs, "Help! Help! Henry, May! Help!"

May lept to her feet, brandishing a stick wildly, then dropping it as she realized who it was. "Why, Adelard Proudfoot, what is the matter with you and why are you making all that noise?" she said, throwing her hands on her hips.

Adelard stopped short, realizing his utter foolishness, and tried to regain his composure. Placing his hands on his hips, he straightened his face and stuck his short nose in the air. “I knew you’d be scared of those wolves out there, and I knew you’d be scared of me too if I came runnin’ through here. And you were too, I know it!”

May tipped her head to one side and looked at him disapprovingly. She disliked Adelard, and what's more she was convinced that he had had a crush on her for the past year. He was fat, disagreeable, always mean to Henry, and a general snob to anyone he found "below him." She frowned.

"Well, you found us now, and we seem to be in much better condition than you are at the moment," she said calmly. "What do you intend to do now, Master Adelard?"

***********************************

Melisil's post:

All around her, Alora heard frightning noises. She had never heard things like this before, but they scared her. Long howlings. Crispin, who was currently beside Alora, was frightened too. This added to her fear.

May and Henry told them that they were going to sit down for a moment, then start back home. Alora agreed to this idea gladly.

The group had only been seated a moment, when a hobbit that Alora didn't know of appeared before them. He startled her, as he had come in to the clearing yelling and shouting like an angry baboon! May seemed to know the Hobbit though, so Alora calmed down, hoping that they would start for camp again soon.

[alaklondewen]

Once the realization that the four children were missing settled on the hobbits, panic broke out among the settlers. Marcho, having dealt with intense situations before, knew that if they did not form an organized party, the crisis would only get worse. It was too late for the fathers, and grandfather, of the lost children. To Marcho’s dismay, the three mounted their ponies and rode off into the forest despite the scout’s loud protests. The children’s safety was the most important goal, and the trio of riders were putting themselves in unnecessary danger. Their behavior was downright foolish. The Whitfoot and Chubb wives had nearly made the same mistake. Marcho caught them running after their husbands, and physically stopped their progression. These women would have been in even more trouble than their male counterparts. One of them had even armed herself with a broom. No, Marcho would not allow them to be apart of this.

“Elsa, Sarah, I know you’re worried sick, but there is nothing you can do.” The scout glanced at Elsa’s broom that she gripped tightly. “Go back to your wagons…no, better yet, go to my wagon. Estella is there and she will be armed.” Marcho knew his bow and quiver were nestled just behind the seat, and Estella was trained to use it at need.

Turning his back on them and assuming they would do as he commanded, Marcho, with help from his brother and Fredigar Headstrong, began gathering every eligible male to go into the forest. They would be stronger with a greater number, and since he was unsure how many wolves were near, he did not want to take any chances. He only hoped the beasts had not surrounded the camp.

Once the hobbit men were approximately seventy strong, Marcho gave the order and they moved toward the eaves of the woods. The hobbit band might have made the soldiers of Big Folk chuckle if they had seen the Halflings marching with their short knives. Some were fortunate to have long knives or short swords, but many carried sling shots and farming tools. They were not as trained as the Big Folk or the armies of old, but they were strong in their hearts. Moving forward with formidable determination, these hobbits were not coming returning without those children, even if they had to fight with all they had.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The hobbits’ headlong rush into the forest was severely stayed the moment they passed under the trees. All three ponies shied away from the trees, and the branches that had before seemed high enough to let them pass beneath lowered and waved in their faces, catching and scratching at their eyes and mouths. Fordogrim lashed out against the forest with his cane, batting the branches away from him, but the low whispering in the leaves came back to him like hissing laughter. Soon, Stout and Daisy had slowed to a walk, and even Kalimac’s thoroughbred was forced to stumble with the work ponies through the roots. With the initial rush of terror and ferocity gone, a cold and tingling fear settled on them all as they realised what they were doing: before them lay the Forest and in it were Wolves. They were only three against that. But also in the Forest were their children. Fear might have dogged their very steps, but not one of them even considered turning back.

After the initial volley of howls an eerie silence had fallen on the Forest. Not knowing which way to go, the three hobbits headed more or less in the direction of the last sounds they had heard. The further they went, the harder it was to move in a straight line, as the trees seemed to crowd them about, forcing them always to their right and back toward the edge of the Forest. Fordogrim lashed out with his cane against the trunk of a large oak, crying out, “We want nothing to do with you! We’re only in here a-trying to save our little ones!” but the oak tree only shivered with a treey kind of rage and the woods crowded in about them more closely than before.

Harold spoke quietly, his voice coming from the darkness to Fordogrim like the pale cry of a phantom. “Father, perhaps we should try not to upset anything in here and simply look for the children.” Fordogrim nodded; he knew his son could not see him, but he also knew that a lack of reply on his part would be taken by Harold as assent.

They pressed on for a few more minutes but it quickly became apparent that they were lost. Worse, they no longer had any idea of which way their children lay, and which way lay their danger. They tried crying out the names of the children, but the leaves stifled their voices and their calls fell meaningless and cold to the forest floor. Without a word passing between them, they stopped dead and the trees pulled in around them like the woody bars of a prison. “Well,” Fordogrim began bitterly, “what are we to do now?” He felt old in that moment, old and stupid and useless. He knew that if he had not charged into the woods ahead of the others, his son probably would have taken the time to organise something more useful, and that ridiculous Whitfoot would not have felt compelled to do them both one better and ride in after them. What was I thinking? Better to have stayed behind with the women and children and let them’s that are able-bodied have come in here.

It was, surprisingly enough (to Fordogrim at least) Kalimac who came up with a solution. Rather than crying out the names of his son and daughter, he tilted back his head and let out a terrifyingly good imitation of a wolf’s howl. It rose into the treetops about them and scattered through the boughs, raising the very hackles on Fordogrim’s neck. As the sound echoed off into the woods, the elderly hobbit looked at the Whitfoot and angrily demanded, “Just why in the name of sense did you go and do something like that for?” But Fordogrim was immediately given his answer in the form of answering calls coming from somewhere to their left, and slightly behind them. Wheeling their mounts, the three hobbits charged into the woods once more and made for the sounds of the wolves, which were now coming almost continuously. Soon, however, they had changed into the unmistakable growls and whines of animals on the hunt.

In a state of blind white panic, the hobbits pushed on through the trees until without warning they emerged into a small clearing that was the scene of their greatest nightmares. Standing in the middle of the clearing were four large and hungry-looking wolves. As Fordogrim, Harold and Kalimac entered the clearing, the wolves stopped and looked toward them. The largest growled at the others in their wolf-tongue and the three nearest turned and, snarling, began to advance on them, while the remaining monster brought its belly close to the ground and slunk off into the forest in search of its prey.

[Kransha]

They had sallied forth, a motley enough trio considering they were currently at odds. Kalimac kept shooting venomous glares at both the Chubbs, which were quickly and promptly returned by them. Though that rivalry kept them off guard, they soon turned their attention to the vile symphony of noises that was issuing from the woodland depths. The trees and roots on the ground, which Kalimac was so familiar with, became a hardship as well. It was harder now to navigate towards the sound, but Kalimac knew a way. His natural knowledge might come in handy just now, even though he was unused to the territory and the surroundings. He managed, after some searching, to execute a well-done wolf call, to the general surprise and confusion of the two Chubbs. Luckily, his bizarre action was explained before he had to speak, and the trio set off again…right into the clearing that contained the predators, their prey.

Instantly as Kalimac’s eyes caught sight of the murderous, fiendish wolves who would dare to assault his children, the short but firm oaken bow strung around his arm was whipped out fully and leveled at one of the coiled up beasts who was about to spring. Usually, better judgment would’ve had him aiming at one of the vile creatures edging ominously towards him, but he was too filled with this furious energy to even notice them. A narrow shaft was instantly plucked from the compact quiver that was dangling nonchalantly just behind his right leg and lay that arrow bolt sternly on his closed fist which gripped the bow's handle. His hobbit eyes narrowed at the beasts as he aimed precisely.

“Get away from our children, you foul creatures!” commanded Kalimac in his biggest voice, which, incidentally wasn’t very big at all. Kalimac was a good hunter as were most Fallohides, but he could not recall being openly threatened by murderous wolves. Suddenly, as soon as it had sprung up, his newfound strength wilted. His rigid arm wavered, his stomach jumped, and a distinct gulp could be heard as his grip on the fine bow began to weaken and tremble as the gentlehobbit stared down the length of his quivering arrow at the voracious looks on those wolf muzzles and the evil, utterly fiendish glint in their eyes.

In retrospect, it is never a good idea to take out a bow when trembling; it makes for very bad aim and stamina. This was the fact that ran, over and over, through Kalimac’s mind as he realized that he’d just let go of the arrow. The shaft slid from his bow, whistled through the air, and thudded into the wooded earth right beside one of the snarling beast. No, not a good idea at all.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Grog snarled and twisted his body to the side as a fiendish arrow came biting into the ground no more than half a foot away. Rage welled up inside his head as he turned to face the annoying two-leggeds. The pack had just slunk out of the depths of the thicket to begin their assault on the cubs when the three ponies had come trampling through and forced them to turn about.

"Regroup and attack!" Grog imperilously commanded. "I will deal with the cubs. You three go after the others. The two-legged's bow can do little close at hand. Forget the riders and harry the ponies. Come in under their feet."

With that, Grog turned and swiftly made for the nearby glade where the five children were trapped. He glimpsed back once and saw Aisha charging the larger cart pony with a savage look of determination etched on her face. Each of the pack chose an intended target, slashing and biting furiously at the legs of the horses. Darting in and out while skillfully avoiding the hooves, they snapped at the hind and forelegs. The two-leggeds were busy defending themselves and, for the moment at least, had no hope of breaking through to the glade where their children were.

The cart pony squeeled in terror, with ears flattened against her head as Aisha leapt up and aimed for Daisy's rear, barely missing by an inch. Totally unprepared for the noise and tumult, Daisy reared up on her hind legs with Harold clinging to her back. The female wolf charged again, this time attacking from the side. Her eyes wide with fear, the pony bucked and lashed out with two hind legs, landing a glancing blow on Aisha's ribs. At that instant, Harold lost his seat and went spinning to the ground. His pony whirled around and sprinted furiously out of the woods in the direction where Marcho's band was coming.

Aisha stood her ground in front of the two-legged, a leering grin of triumph spreading over her face as she prepared to spring. But before she could lurch forward, the grin suddenly faded. She saw her victim quickly stoop and pick up something that had fallen to the ground. In a split instant, the two-legged was brandishing not a weapon, but something that could do just as much harm. It was a tool Aisha had seen before whenever she raided the farms outside Bree to steal hens and goats: a short wooden shaft with a long sharp blade at one end........

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Grog speedily approached the forest grove where the five children had gathered, barking and howling as he went. For one split instant, he stopped and sat on his haunches some paces distant, trying to choose which cub he should pull down first. He greedily stared at the children and then loped onward, his eyes gleaming cold and bright from out of the dark night shadows.

Then, very quickly, everything happened. Catching the loud noises that were coming from the the grove where their fathers were fighting, the two-legged cubs veered around in horror and caught sight of the gleeming eyes that were spying at them out of the bushes, gradually approaching closer to the place where they were standing. Now that his advantage of secrecy was gone, Grog quickly decided on a course of action. Charging through the bracken, howling and snarling, he headed straight towards his first chosen victim: the fat hobbit who had just arrived.

[Regin Hardhammer]

In a state of panic, Harold watched as his beloved pony Daisy sprinted back toward camp. A ferocious wolf glared at him intently, with a ravenous grin on its gnarled face. The other two beasts, wild and battle-scared, attacked Grandpa Fordo and Kalimac. Although Harold tried to be attentive, the wolves had still managed to ambush them and force them to retreat. He desperately thought of the children and prayed that the wolves had not harmed them yet.

“Get out of my way,” Harold yelled at the wolf, “I’ve got to get to my children.” No beast was going to stop him from saving poor May and Henry. The wolf crouched and prepared to lunge at Harold. Before it could spring, Harold hastily grabbed his scythe, which had fallen to the ground. He lashed out with it at the savage creature. Harold watched the animal recoil, with a look of astonishment that such a little creature could defend itself.

Suddenly, a mighty paw slammed into Harold’s leg. Sharp claws ripped through Harold’s worn pants and grazed his tan skin. He let out a piercing cry as pain hit like lightening and surged through his body. Blood trickled out from the edge of the gash and dripped onto the shady forest floor that was covered in layers of leaves. Harold stumbled, but caught himself before tumbling to the ground, and swung his scythe with even greater force at his attacker. The blade grazed the wolf’s ear, making a small notch, as the wolf sprang back. Harold himself was quite surprised that he had managed to land a blow to the beast. Although he had used his scythe many times before, he had never tried to attack anything with it. The Hobbit was not very proficient with weapons and had no experience with them. If I knew how to fight well, I would be able to beat these wolves and rescue my children.

Harold began to tire of swinging his weapon, and he feared that the wolf would soon close in on him. His strokes grew steadily shorter. He looked about despairingly, searching for any sign of rescue. Kalimac, riding on Staddle, had managed to subdue the wolf attacking him for a moment. He rode towards Harold and hesitated for a moment before offering his hand. Harold grasped Kalimac’s outstretched arm and swung himself onto the pony. Harold felt very relieved, but the wolves moved in on the two Hobbits and resumed their attack.

[Arestevana]

Elsa stared after Kalimac’s retreating back in disbelief. He wants me to stay behind? Kal, you’re mad! Our children are lost and you want me to stay behind!? There was only one acceptable reaction. Elsa tightened her grip on the broom and ran after her husband.

After only a few steps, Elsa was breathing hard. The three ponies had already reached the forest’s edge. Sarah Chubb ran past Elsa, who realized that the other woman was much stronger than she. Elsa sped up, determined that Sarah should not reach the forest first. Soon both ladies were forced to halt as Marcho headed them off just short of the forest’s edge.

“Elsa, Sarah, I know you’re worried sick, but there is nothing you can do.” He told them. . “Go back to your wagons…no, better yet, go to my wagon. Estella is there and she will be armed.” But I am armed! Elsa wanted to shout. Here was a harder decision, though. Could she disobey both her husband and the appointed leader of their group?

Obediently, Elsa turned around and headed toward the wagon. She could hear Sarah close behind. Marcho left, apparently satisfied that they were following his instructions. Elsa turned to face Mrs. Chubb. “I apologize for today’s argument, and anything offensive that I said.” She mumbled, not meeting Sarah’s eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my children are lost in the woods.” She turned away, not waiting for an answer, and began running toward the forest again.

“Whoa, Elsa.” Sarah called, easily catching up. “It’s not just your children that’s lost, it’s May and Henry too. I’m coming” Elsa did not respond; already she was panting. She was not sure whether her apology had been accepted, but she was grateful for the company.

Elsa’s appreciation for Sarah’s companionship increased tenfold when they entered the forest. She struggled through the underbrush, batting at vines and branches with her broom. The ponies should have left a path easy to follow, but their trail seemed to vanish after several yards. Elsa glanced around helplessly, reluctant to ask for Sarah’s guidance.

Suddenly a low howl rippled from the woods just ahead of the women. Elsa whimpered and clutched her broom. A chorus of howling erupted from further in. Sarah plunged into the bushes ahead, moving toward the fierce howling with admirable determination. Elsa followed with considerable reluctance. After several frightening moments of blind racing, Elsa knew that she was well and truly lost. She caught up to Sarah, who had paused briefly, and voiced a troublesome question. “Which way now?”

Sarah was kept from answering by a thunderous crashing in the brush. A cart pony burst from the foliage in a wild dash. Sarah let out a cry and made a grab for the animal, but it evaded her and continued in it’s mad flight from the forest. Trying to still her pounding heart, Elsa noticed with detached puzzlement that Sarah was once again tearing through the forest at an alarming speed. The thought of being left behind frightened Elsa more than the sudden realization that Sarah’s path, like the ponies, seemed to be vanishing quickly.

Elsa followed as quickly as she could, trying to imagine the purpose behind Sarah’s sudden haste. Branches, roots, and other obstacles were proffered by the forest with unrelenting generosity, and it became increasingly difficult for Elsa to think and run at the same time. It had something to do with the pony… That was the Chubb’s pony, Elsa thought, tripping over a log. She loosened her broom from the grip of a vine for what seemed the hundredth time.

The Chubb’s pony, so Harold must have been riding it… It was too clear even for Elsa to miss. The image of the riderless pony came back to her mind with the chilling realization. Something must have happened to Harold. Even though Elsa did not consider Mr. Chubb a friend, the thought of the usually cheerful hobbit lying dead or gravely wounded in this hostile forest disturbed her terribly. Harold was armed. If something has happened to him, what of Alora and Crispin? What if we’re too late?

[alaklondewen]

Adelard’s period of slight adoration of Mayflower Chubb fell quickly short when the sounds of shouting and struggles caught his attention. Spinning on his heals, a gasp escape his throat when he met the gaze of a great wolf that was positioned just outside the circle of the grove. Before the young hobbits could react, the beast leapt forward aiming for the horrified Adelard. The weight of the hefty animal knocked the hobbit to the ground, but it was unable to rip at the victim’s vulnerable throat because Adelard forced his forearm over his head and managed to lodge it between the jaws of the massive wolf.

As the two struggled, the other youngsters stood with mouths gaping unsure of what they could possible do to aid in their fellow hobbit. It was at this point that young Henry remembered the flint he had placed in his pocket after he had helped with the bonfire earlier that evening. Working as quickly as he could move, Henry pulled out the flint and proceeded to strike the pieces together over a dried, leafy branch that lied next to the log upon which they took their rest. May seemed to instantly understand her brother’s intent and grabbed another branch.

The produced sparks quickly took hold of the parched leaves and soon flames licked upwards generating a blaze of light that startled the wolf long enough to loosen Adelard’s bleeding arm. The young prey cried out as the teeth pulled from his skin, and he was able to kick the beast’s belly. At the same time, Henry and May, with branches ablaze, swung their weapons toward the wolf. A flaming leaf flew from Henry’s bough and landed directly between the raging wolf’s ears, causing it to cry out in pain and recoil. Adelard took the opportunity to roll out from under the beast, protecting his injury with his other arm.

The great wolf recuperated quickly and lowered himself over his haunches, ready to attack again, when a great ruckus was heard coming through the trees……….

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Stout whinnied in terror as the great she-wolf loped toward them, her tongue hanging out between yellowed teeth, her eyes ablaze with a terrible hunger. Fordogrim just had time to realise that neither Harold nor Kalimac would be able to help him when the wolf was beneath Stout, slashing at his faithful pony’s flanks. Stout screamed with pain as one paw raked its way through the flesh of his belly, and rearing, he spun about. Fordogrim gripped the saddle with his free hand and tried to hit the wolf with the only weapon he had – his cane – but the knotted wood only cut through the air as he flailed about uselessly. Again, the wolf lunged at the pony and Stout turned about, Fordogrim thought to run away, but his old friend’s heart was apparently made of sterner stuff. As the wolf made for them, Stout lashed out with a hind leg, neatly catching the monster on the side of her shaggy head.

The wolf staggered back and fell against a tree, yelping and spitting in anger. But she soon righted herself, and lowered her belly to the ground. Now, the thrill of the hunt was gone from her eyes, and there was only a blind hatred. She glared at Stout and Fordogrim with the look of a beast intent upon destruction and rapine. Fordogrim knew that all thoughts of food were now gone from her mind; all she wanted was to kill, and to feel the blood of her prey course over her teeth. She took her time in this attack, circling around the slower moving pony, whose own movements were beginning to slow down from the pain of his wound. The wolf soon got behind them both and immediately sprang. Fordogrim turned in his saddle and lashed out with his cane. “Get away you mongrel!” he cried, sure that it was the last thing he would ever say.

Whether the hobbit or the wolf was more surprised by what happened next would be hard to say, for despite the dark and the sudden murderous speed of the beast, and the staggering gait of the pony, and Fordogrim’s failing eyesight, his cane somehow found the top of the wolf’s head. With a sound like that of a stone falling onto pavements, the wolf’s head was driven downward by the knotted wood of the cane. At that very moment, Stout had kicked out his legs in one last desperate attempt to leap forward and save his master, and as the wolf’s head went down it met the pony's hooves on the way up. There was another sound, this time, like a small door slamming shut as the wolf’s lower jaw was driven upward into her skull. She let out a howl of the purest agony as her sharp teeth cut through her tongue, and she fell to the earth splitting blood and trying to see through the welter of stars that swam before her vision.

Fordogrim wasted no time to gloat over his lucky victory. Looking about he saw Harold and Kalimac mounted upon the Whitfoot’s thoroughbred, facing the other two wolves. Spurring Stout toward them he pulled up at their side, brandishing his cane above his head and letting fly with what he hoped sounded like a fearsome cry of defiance. “Me and my Stout have handled one of these monsters! Let’s deal with these last two curs and send them back to the mother as whelped them!”

[Memory of Trees]

Adelard never had a chance to answer her question. He turned as if to speak to her, and then everything began to happen so fast that May could only watch in horror. A massive, grey-furred animal leapt snarling from the darkened woods and knocked him to the ground, sinking its great teeth into his pudgy arm. She screamed in shock as blood squirted from the wound, splattering crimson on the ground.

Then came a cry behind her and Henry ran forward, whirling a burning branch wildly above his head and yelling at the top of his lungs. May caught on at once. Catching up the torch from Henry as he ran past her, she thrust a fallen tree branch into the fire. The dry wood crackled and burst at once into flame, sending a shower of sparks flying out through the air as she spun it out in front of her.

May didn’t go rushing forward as Henry had. She advanced slowly upon the wolf, waving her burning stick in front of her, because she knew that wolves do not often hunt alone, and she was not going to be caught unawares. May stood about four feet away before the wolf took notice of her. He lifted his great shaggy head, Adelard’s limp arm still dangling from his mouth, and stared directly into her eyes.

It was as if all time had stopped. The howling of the wolves and cries of the children and the roaring of the flame in her hand ceased to be for May, and there was only she and the wolf; all the rest of the world had faded away, was no longer important. And May thought had never seen something so proud, so beautiful in her entire life as when she stared into the eyes of that wolf, so majestic, and above all, wild.

But the evil in his eyes betrayed him, and May raised her chin and glared right back the snarling wolf, the flaming branch in her hand. She stared into the hateful eyes of the wolf, and she laughed. There May was, in the middle of the forest, surrounded by wolves and alone, and she laughed in his face. She laughed because she was not afraid. She laughed and laughed, because her name was Mayflower Chubb, and she was stronger than the wolf. May threw her head back and howled like a wolf, spinning her flame around her head, laughing wildly because she could.

Then May released the branch, and it kept on spinning right smack into the wolf, and it clung to his thick fur, and he yelped as his it caught fire. The wolf turned tail and ran howling back into the forest, trailing sparks from his coat. And time went back to normal, and May saw Henry standing and staring at her. She stopped laughing, because there was nothing funny about what she saw next.

Huge, snarling wolves were coming into the clearing from every possible angle, and now May had no stick. They were completely and hopelessly surrounded. I’m going to die, she thought numbly. All this, and now I’m going to die.

But May didn’t, for at that moment a shout came from the forest and help came crashing up to them, yelling and brandishing torches and sticks. May felt weak with relief as they immediately started in on the wolves, but had the presence of mind to check on the unmoving Adelard. She hurried to his side, and at first she was horrified by the thought that he might be dead. The boy lay still and pale, and his arm was turned a funny way. But no, he had just fainted, she realized to her relief. The arm looked broken, though.

“Oh, Adelard!” May sighed as she knelt beside him. “Why couldn’t you just stay home? Then none of this would have happened to you! Of all the vexing boys in the world…” But as she spoke poor Adelard turned and moaned feverishly, and her brow furrowed with concern. The sounds of the “battle” around her had become quieter, and she knew the wolves would soon be driven off.

Reaching forward, she took the boy’s good hand. It was hot and dirty, and she pressed it between her own cool hands. “It’ll be all right soon,” she crooned, and then fiercely, “But I hope you know, Adelard Proudfoot, that you very well could have been killed!”

[alaklondewen]

To Marcho’s relief, the great trees of the forest seemed to open and let the small army move more freely than the band had been able to the night before. The scout wondered whether their number was the reason, or if maybe the ancient trees had some sort of compassion. The latter would have been extremely unlikely, he decided. Whatever the reason he was grateful for all haste was needed, especially after the disheartening sight of Harold Chubb’s pony sprinting past them without her rider. The scout had little hope of finding the father alive, but he lead the men forward with his head up and chest out, ready to face whatever they needed to face to save those children.

The horrible cry of an injured animal came from just ahead, and then the voice of the old Fordogrim called out with force. “Let’s deal with these last two curs and send them back to the mother as whelped them!”

Marcho turned to face the hobbits that so bravely followed him and shouted with his sword raised high, “You heard him, my friends. Onward with all haste, let us send those demons off and save our fellow hobbits!” He then roared with all his might and ran through the trees. The soldiers followed his lead, hollering and crying out as though they had become possessed.

As the last of the trees fell behind them, they found the three men first. Both Harold and Kalimac were seated upon the Whitfoot pony with Fordogrim beside them…his cane raised and ready to strike. One wolf sat off to the side in some sort of daze, while two more growled and nipped at the ponies’ feet. When Marcho and the other hobbits entered the scene, the wolves back away for a startled moment. The settlers did not stop to check on the health of the three on their steeds, but charged toward the wolves with such fury that the beasts backed away from their prey and finally turned tail and ran. A few of those with bows let arrows fly…one of which grazed the rump of one of the animals, causing him to cry out and snap at his rear.

Marcho turned to Kalimac to ask about the children’s whereabouts, but before he could verbalize his question a tiny voice called, “Daddy! Daddy!” The source was little Alora running out of the nearby by glade toward her father’s pony. Her brother and the older hobbits followed quickly behind. The scout was surprised to see a fifth child, Adelard Proudfoot. No one had mentioned the boy’s disappearance at the campsite.

It was as glad a sight as any could be in that dark forest…the children and their grateful and relieved parents reunited. Marcho noticed the Proudfoot boy had blood on his clothes, and he wondered whether it belonged to Adelard or someone (or something) else. The story would be told no doubt once they all returned safely to camp.

[Melisil]

The wolves were everywhere. Or so it seemed to the young Hobbit. May and Henry had stepped forward, in front of Alora and Crispin, but it hadn't stopped the young girl from seeing how close the wolves were to them. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, her dad apeared! Both of the 'Mr. Chubb's were with him. The three men faught the wolves, with the four children watching in terror.

Again, the bushes by them shook. More wolves? But no, out of the forest there came not more wolves, but more Hobbits! Alora was able to give a small laugh at this.

Finally, the wolves were gone! Alora ran to her dad, "Daddy! Daddy!" She hugged her dad tightly, hoping that they could now go home. Alora voiced her thoughts, "Daddy, I want to go home." she whispered in his ear.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold leaned over and embraced his two children, newly freed from the ravenous beasts. Stifling back a tear, he grasped May and Henry warmly in his arms. Grandpa Fordo stuck out one of his knobby fingers and began a half-hearted tirade, “Don’t you two ever go wandering off like that in the forest again. I was so worried what was going to happen. That was the most foolish thing you two bubble brains have ever done. What are you trying to do, make your old Grandpa sick? I’m so mad that I … I…” Then Grandpa took a step back and shook his head, a look of relief clearly settling over his face. “Well, the important thing is that you’re safe. Thank goodness nothing happened.”

Harold felt exactly the way his father did. He was a bit angry with the children, but he was even more relieved that they were unharmed. “Be more careful next time,” Harold warned, “You two must learn to be more responsible. When I heard those creatures howling I thought that you were wolf dinner for sure. Speaking of dinner, I bet you two are hungry. In my rush to save you, I neglected to bring any food, but your mom and I will get you something to eat.”

Harold looked around and saw a vast number of his fellow hobbits who had journeyed out to save them. A collaboration of Harfoot, Fallohide, and Stoor hobbits armed with swords, bows, and even farm implements such as Harold’s. Boy, it was a good thing that my friends and neighbors had come to save us from those nasty beasts. Harold was not quite as optimistic as his grandfather. The three of them would not have held up against the wolves if the large group hadn’t intervened. He had never been so glad to see Marcho in his life. Harold was not at all surprised that his fellow Hobbits had risked their lives to save him, as he would have done the same thing for them.

As the Chubbs turned to leave the forest, Harold felt many things that he chose not to verbalize. Kalimac had saved him, and even if he was a bit frustrated with his employer, he still owed him a heap of gratitude. The Fallohide had arrived and assisted Harold to scramble up on the horse’s back just when his own strength was flagging.

He was also embarrassed about his child-like behavior in the scuffle he had earlier with the Whitfoots. The children’s rescue had taught him that petty arguments do not matter nearly as much as his own family’s safety or that of the other Hobbits. As soon as possible, he intended to apologize and thank Kalimac for his help. Harold would be extremely relieved to leave this awful forest behind him and continue on to their new destination.

[Arestevana]

Elsa was still wandering helplessly through the trees when she suddenly heard a great eruption of shouts nearby. There were several howls, but they seemed somehow less frightening, and she felt heartened. Suddenly there was a great cheer, and she rushed toward the sound. She burst into a small clearing and was startled to see it full of armed hobbits.

Pushing her way through the crowd, Elsa nearly wept to see her children all right. She could see Sarah across the clearing, and for a moment felt relieved that the other hobbit had made it safely there. Then she forgot all about Sarah and ran to smother Alora and Crispin with kisses. Crispin was the closest, so he soon found himself subject to a hail of apologies, reprimands, and relieved embraces.

Elsa could not seem to decide if she was more thankful for her children's safety or angered at their leaving. Soon deciding on the former, she searched for Alora, pulling Crispin with her. The lass was with her father, so Elsa dragged Crispin over and hugged all three of them at once, sobbing hysterically. She tired to put some feeling into her reprimands, but her heart wasn't in it. She could hardly put her relief into words through her tears, so she soon gave up and set her heart on having a good cry.

After a few moments of sobbing (which her family tolerated remarkably well) Elsa noticed Adelard Proudfoot standing across the clearing with blood on his shirt. She turned to her children, wiping her eyes.
"Are you hurt?" she asked. Both children denied injury, but their mother insisted on checking them over thoroughly, and promised to serve them both a hot meal and send them to bed soon afterwards when they returned to the campsite.

Elsa knew that she was likely to get a reprimand from her husband for not staying behind as soon as the children fell asleep, and she would probably get another from Marcho soon after. Still, she felt that she could feel nothing but grateful. She hugged her children again, still crying in relief.

[Witch_Queen]

"Oh good their still alive." Out of everything that could happen Sarah didn't want her husband a children to die. She knew the wolves wouldn't eat Grandpa Chubb since all the meat would be tough to eat. Sarah almost laughed at the thought of wolvess trying to tear through Grandpa Chubbs flesh and then running away from his cane. She shook her head to get the picture to leave. She ran over to her family to hug her husband and children. Never had she been so happy to see them all safe and together. Everything is better now that my children are safe.

Sarah thought she was actually going to have to use her rolling pin to defend her family but remembered that it was still back at the cart. She was in so big of a hurry that nothing could keep her away from her children. Not even Marcho could have stopped her. "I'm glad to see that your ok. Did any of you get hurt?" Sarah thought they would all say no but noticed that Harold's pants leg was ripped. "Oh Harold what happened to you leg. You didn't take a tumble again did you?" She was worried now because she had to make sure Harold was going to be ok.

Sarah needed Harold to be ok. We've got to get this fixed. Sarah didn't care about the pants all she wanted to know was if Harold was ok.The pants can be fixed but Harold can't be replaced. She wanted to cry but held it back. Her family was safe for a little while at least. Its all my fault. If we hadn't of been fighting then the children wouldn't have ran off. We need to be extra careful since they aren't all full grown yet. It doesn't matter how old they get May and Henry will always be my babies.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

My Dearest Prim,

Well I hope you won’t think the less of me for what I’m about to tell you, but there’s no way to get around what’s happened. I never lied to you when you were with me and I don’t think as it’s right to start doing so now.

I’m afraid my love that your husband has behaved like a tom-fool knotbrain. I can’t say as I didn’t have good reason, but that’s no excuse. First, I got into a bit of a tussle with young Mister Whitfoot, if you can believe it. There was a ballyhoo between our Harold and Sarah, and those Whitfoots, and I got in the middle of it, pretty quick. Well, one thing lead to another and before I knew it I had accidentally hit that Kalimac with my cane and then he came at me – and then, would you believe it? Our Harold rushed in like a bull that’s been baited too far and nearly knocked that Kalimac down the pegs he needs knocking down! I don’t mind admitting to you that I was that proud of him. And you should have seen Sarah, too, giving those Whitfoots a proper piece of her mind. I begin to think that she might be developing some sense after all.

But there’s even more. Right in the middle of all this there was a whole pack of wolves that attacked us, and the children were gone into the Forest and there was such a panic and a cry as you’ve never heard. Well, I don’t need to tell you that Harold and I were off at once to save Henry and May, and who came with us but that fool of a Whitfoot Kalimac. You see, his children are so unruly, and his wife such a delicate mother, that our Henry and May are the ones who take care of the Whitfoot little ones now – so they were all off together in the woods with those demons!

It turns out that Harold and I would have been better to think a bit before roaring off into danger, as we soon got lost, and when we did get found again we were attacked by the wolves and very nearly done in by them. I did put one of them back a step, but it was only by the luckiest of chances. Still, the others seem to think that I did something grand and old as I am, I’ve learned that when folk think well of you, that’s no time to go telling them they’re wrong.

But here I am nattering on about myself when I can hear you wanting to know about the children. May and Henry are fine – that May apparently put up quite a fight of her own; she has some grit in her. That young Adelard Proudfoot had got himself mixed up in things too, and he took a bit of a bite from a wolf, but he’ll recover. I should say here that Sarah was there too, ready to do battle with the beasts with her bare hands.

At any rate, all’s well that ends well, and things ended well indeed. It was that touching to see Harold and Sarah getting the little ones back all safe. They were so glad to see Henry and May that they didn’t take the time to give them the proper scolding, so I had to see to that. We had a nice meal back at the camp after all this so the adventure seems to be over for now. I just wish I could be sure it was the last one of this wretched trip, but I’m not so crack-brained as to think that it could be!

I hope that you are well and happy. I miss you awfully.

Your husband,

Grim

P.S. In all fairness I should say that it was young Marcho Bolger who saved us from the wolves.

[Memory of Trees]

It was all over before long. The wolves were driven off, and the sounds of the "battle" grew quieter and changed to the happy noise of reuninted families. May kneeling at Adelard's side when she heard a familiar voice call out, "May! Henry!"

"Daddy!" she cried, jumping to her feet. Harold Chubb clasped his two children in a warm embrace. May put her arms around him and buried her face in his chest, breathing in her father's warm, earthy smell. "Oh, Daddy," she whispered, and suddenly all the braveness went out of May. She began to tremble, and she felt weak and frightened.

Grandpa Fordo stood to one side, and began to scold both children half-heartedly. “Don’t you two ever go wandering off like that in the forest again," he said, shaking a knobby finger at them. "I was so worried what was going to happen. That was the most foolish thing you two bubble brains have ever done. What are you trying to do, make your old Grandpa sick? I’m so mad that I … I…” Then Grandpa took a step back and shook his head, a look of relief clearly settling over his face. “Well, the important thing is that you’re safe. Thank goodness nothing happened.”

"Oh, Grandpa," May said, laughing through her tears. She pulled away from her father and planted a kiss on the old man's cheek. "I don't think there's any chance of this happening again." Her grandpa looked both surprised and pleased.

It was now her father's turn to lecture. “Be more careful next time,” Harold warned, “You two must learn to be more responsible. When I heard those creatures howling I thought that you were wolf dinner for sure." Then his expression softened. "Speaking of dinner, I bet you two are hungry. In my rush to save you, I neglected to bring any food, but your mom and I will get you something to eat.” He took her hand and started to go back, but May stopped him.

"Wait, Daddy," she said suddenly, halting. "I forgot about Adelard!" Her father looked puzzled, and May hurried to explain. Pulling her father over to where the Proudfoot boy lay, she said,"Something has to be done about him. I think he's hurt pretty bad, Daddy. Are his parents here?"

Harod said he didn't think so, but assured his daughter that someone would see that he got back to the camp safely. Reluctantly, May left with her father. Something was bothering her. Adelard never would have come into the forest if it weren't for her and Henry, and he had been rather brave fighting the wolf. And there was something else, too. Adelard's parents hadn't come looking for him, which meant one of two things: one, that his parents had never realized he was gone, or two, that they didn't care enough to come looking for him. Maybe there's more to Adelard Proudfoot than meets the eye, she realized.

[Regin Hardhammer]

After Harold had reunited with his children, he made a point to go find his wife and let her know the injury he'd received from fighting the wolves was only a small scrape. “Don’t worry about me, " he responded with a broad grin. "I'm fit as a fiddle and ready to push on. Why don’t you fix something for May and Henry here? I bet they’re starving.”

After a hug from his wife, Harold remembered another important task that still needed to be done. He wanted to get the chore of apologizing to the Whitfoots out of the way, since he was not exactly looking forward to that. He turned to offer Sarah an explanation before continuing on his way. “As much as I'd love to eat and relax with the family, I have some pressing business with Kalimac that needs tending. After what happened with the wolves, our great hubbub with the Whitfoots looks kind of silly, and I think it’s important we put such trifling scuffles behind us. I've decided to go to Kalimac and apologize for my atrocious behavior. Even thought it could be awkward, it’s the right thing to do. Save some food for when I get back.”

Harold meandered slowly over to Kalimac’s campsite still struggling in his head to find what words to use. He discovered the Fallohide landowner in the midst of an intense conversation with Marcho. Harold hesitated for a moment; he had not planned for Marcho to hear his apology, but finally reasoned that he probably owed some explanation to both of them. Getting up his courage, Harold approached the two Hobbits, tugged on his cap, and politely interrupted, “I am so sorry to horn in on your conversation, but I did need to share something important with Kalimac. Marcho, I think you should hear this too.”

As Marcho and Kalimac looked up, Harold stared resolutely at the ground, a little reluctant to look them squarely in the face. He continued on more slowly. “I’d like to offer my humble apology for my rash actions and words in our argument. And also say thanks for your help to me when I got in trouble with the wolves. In truth, I don’t really know why I got so mad earlier. Lately, I find myself getting upset easily because of everything that’s happened on this trip. It seems I’m risking my family’s life, yet I don’t quite know why."

Harold wondered if he'd said too much and looked nervously over towards Marcho, stammering a bit. "Begging your pardon, sir. I'm sure you know best, of course. It's just that nothing's really changed for myself and the other Harfoot Hobbits. When we reach the White Downs, things won't be much different than they were back in Bree. The Fallohide landlords will still own the land, and I and the other Harfoot will work hard and fork our rents over to them. We won't even own the burrows that we live in. That's fine, I suppose. And I do get a lot of satisfaction out of seeing things grow. Only I could have done all that back in Bree without risking my children's lives"

"I’m sorry Kalimac, but no one ever asked me or my buddies whether or not we wanted to move. There we all were, sitting in the Prancing Pony, quaffing a brew, having a good time, and enjoying ourseves, just like always. Suddenly, the Pony was gone and everything had changed."

"Not that it wasn't a good idea, of course....., things being crowded and such in Bree." Harold respectfully nodded in Marcho's direction. "Still, things like that can nibble at the edge of a Hobbit's mind, and maybe that's part of the reason I got so angry earlier. In any case, I'm very sorry.”

Harold tipped his hat again and then took a step backward. He couldn't tell from the look on Kalimac's face exactly what the Fallohide was thinking, and he didn't want to prolong the situation any further. He quickly walked away, relieved to be done with it but feeling better about himself for taking responsibility for his childish actions. He wasn't so sure about the other things he'd said. He hadn't meant to reveal his inner feelings to Kalimac, but some of his complaints had just come blurting out. And the funny thing is that some of these feelings were probably as new and unexpected to Harold as they were to the people he was telling.

Quickly Harold pushed the uncomfomfortable experience to the side, and concentrated on more immediate matters. His children and wife were safe, which was the most important thing in the world. His stomach growling like a hungry wolf, Harold returned to his family's wagon and joined in the dinner, purposely saying nothing about what had just happened.

[Kransha]

The world seemed to have flown by in an instant’s span. Kalimac, looking around and blinking like an idiot, found the wolves gone and found Alora perched precariously on the pony, having jumped into his arms and almost bowled him over. Recovering quickly, the hobbit managed to hop down from the pony and hug Alora closer to him. He couldn’t even voice his relief at seeing her again unscathed, but she would’ve cut him off anyway as she whispered in his lowered ear, "Daddy, I want to go home." Kalimac didn’t respond at first, suddenly fearing the worst. He had figured that his children would sometimes protest, but Alora’s voice held a more obvious urgency and sincerity than before. All he could do was shake his head and respond with another whisper.

“Don’t worry, Alora, now that the wolves are gone everything will be alright.”

Before the conversation could continue, Elsa’s arms were wrapped awkwardly around him, Alora, and Crispin, who had apparently been with her. Her loud sobs barely served to muffle the protesting cries of the children at being hugged for over ten seconds. Kalimac’s dreading paleness warmed up slowly as a smile creased on his features. His wife began a weak berating of the three of them, but soon enough broke down into sobs again, before going back on her tirade and inspecting the children from head to toe. Being as quiet as he could about it, Kalimac Whitfoot slipped off as his wife and children headed back towards the campsite. He needed to talk to his half-brother, and found him easily supervising the communal recovery of the hobbit caravan.

“Marcho,” he said, some lingering anger in his voice, “I must know; will there be many such events that mar the course of our journey? I could put up with foxes, I could put up with murderous trees, I could even put up with such ravenous beasts as these wolves, but my family cannot handle much more.”

“There will be more hardships, Kalimac, but we will endure.” Responded Marcho almost curtly, which wasn’t like the scout, as he continued walking around and tying up all of the loose ends frayed by the cataclysmic wolf attack so recently. Still frustrated, and more so now that Marcho was not giving him his full attention, Kalimac continued more heatedly, “With all due respect, Marcho, you have not answered my question. I know you’ve put a lot of stock in this quest, but don’t be naïve about our chances.” He practically snapped back. Marcho, looking slightly frustrated with his half-brother, turned with a protesting finger raised to respond, but was cut off by the out-of-place voice of Harold Chubb, who had seemingly materialized beside the two of them. Kalimac turned, as did Marcho a moment later, to look at the fidgeting Harfoot as he began.

“I am so sorry to horn in on your conversation, but I did need to share something important with Kalimac. Marcho, I think you should hear this too.” Kalimac gave an acknowledging nod and Harold continued. The hobbit went off like an arrow strung expertly on a bow, his words flowing with amazing consideration as he proceeded to give a humble apology to Kalimac, which the hobbit pondered briefly as Harold spoke on, beginning to put his heart into his words. He addressed Marcho too, and the scout also recognized his oddly melancholy confidence in his speech. "I’m sorry Kalimac, but no one ever asked me or my buddies whether or not we wanted to move. There we all were, sitting in the Prancing Pony, quaffing a brew, having a good time, and enjoying ourseves, just like always. Suddenly, the Pony was gone and everything had changed. Not that it wasn't a good idea, of course....., things being crowded and such in Bree." Harold respectfully nodded in Marcho's direction. "Still, things like that can nibble at the edge of a Hobbit's mind, and maybe that's part of the reason I got so angry earlier. In any case, I'm very sorry.”

Tipping his hat politely and edging backward, Kalimac and Harold, Fallohide and Whitfoot, rich and poor, looked at each other keenly for what seemed like many minutes before Harold turned, with another tip of the hat, and headed back towards his own family. Kalimac stared after him, putting great consideration into the words his counterpart had just said. He’d almost expected the apology, but the rest had given Kalimac a new insight into Harold as a hobbit, a view of the Harfoot which he’d never seen before in his life. It was strangely disconcerting to know these feelings that Harold had, since he’d often found himself comparing the venerable Harfoot to some kind of slated beast of burden, devoid of any cares except for serving and pestering his employer. But now he knew there was something more. Just like he had his fears, his nervousness, his foolishness, Harold had his past that had been swept away in the winds of Bree.

“You can disregard what I said earlier, Marcho. I do believe I’ve got some thinking to do.”

With that, his mind abuzz with numerous inner conversations which Kalimac was having exclusively with himself, the hobbit of Bree turned abruptly from Marcho and headed towards the waiting arms of his family. He did have a great amount of thinking to do. He saw Harold and his kin in a new light now, even that hostile old coot, Fordogrim. It was like looking through a color-tinted window; everything looked suddenly different, and Kalimac realized who wrong he had been. He would have to consider the Harfoot's words very carefully.

[alaklondewen]

Adelard held his injured arm firmly against his body as he glared menacingly at the Chubb and Whitfoot offspring. Their parents were hugging them, showing joy in the children’s safety, while all Adelard got was a smack to the back of the head from his father for wandering into the forest and ruining his clothes. His mother showed him a bit more attention and ordered a healer to tend to his arm.

The old hobbit gently tried to pull the young hobbit’s bleeding arm away from his chest. A razor sharp pain ripped through his limb, and Adelard shoved the healer roughly away with his good arm, all the while never removing his gaze from the Chubbs. It was after all their fault he was in this mess…they should never had ventured off away from camp, enticing Adelard to find them. Bitterness filled his head as he watched May hug her father once more.

“I am afraid your arm is broken, young Master Proudfoot.” The healer’s soft voice broke through Adelard’s thoughts, and he turned his curly topped head toward the old hobbit, who continued quickly. “Good thing is…it shouldn’t need setting. I can wrap it for you now.”

Adelard just looked through the hobbit and turned back toward May. An inner struggle had begun in the young Proudfoot. He could not keep himself from gazing at the lass, admiring her from afar, but he rebuked himself at the same time for the interest in someone as lowly as a sharecropper’s daughter. His father would never stand for it. Nor will I. He told himself.

As soon as the healer finished wrapping his throbbing limb, Adelard, now hardened with resolve, marched to where the Chubb daughter stood with her family. “This is your fault, May Chubb, and don’t tell me otherwise! My arm is broken! It will be weeks before I can use it again, and…my clothes…they…they’re ruined! You’re going to pay for this.”

Adelard’s shouting was causing a bit of a scene, and soon several hobbits were gathering to watch the commotion. The Whitfoot family, which was cooking only a few feet away anyway, scooted a little closer to the Chubb camp. When the Proudfoot saw them, he turned his focus on the adults. “Do you see?! Do you see what happens when you leave your children with peasants? They think they can do anything! Anything!”

May’s father stepped forward and tried to quiet Adelard, but the young hobbit eluded his touch and spun to face May once more. “This is your fault…” Adelard spoke through his clamped teeth and pointed his finger at her. “You’re going to work for this. Get ready…you’re going to work for this.”

[alaklondewen]

Marcho Bolger

In the days that followed the wolf catastrophe the settlers seemed to be genuinely bound together. Families were helping one another with campsite chores, and the second evening after the fight, everyone pitched in to have a community meal. The ladies prepared a delicious stew from the ingredients each family contributed. Many sang songs and danced, and a barrel of ale was tapped and shared by all. Marcho even pulled out his wooden flute for a rare performance. Overnight, the males took turns, four at a time, standing guard against the surrounding darkness.

Seeing this community-centered spirit raised Marcho’s morale. Thus far, it seemed the group had run into one obstacle after another, and he knew many of his fellow hobbits held him to blame. The Fallohide questioned his decision to lead these innocent folk into the wilderness, but in his heart he knew that if they persevered they would be rewarded beyond their expectations.

Marcho had never considered that all the hobbits would not feel the reward of living in a new place, but Harold Chubb’s heart felt apology lingered in the scout’s mind. Two days Marcho mulled over the Harfoot’s words. In all honesty, the hobbit assumed arrangements would be kept between families, and that those who worked for others would still honor their appropriate contracts. Yet, how could he, as their leader, not consider the impact of pulling families from land they’ve worked without the prospect of their own land in return. He had promised this new place would provide for all of them, not just the wealthy. On the other hand, what ramifications would be brought about by letting those contracts fail? This issue certainly needed some discussion. Marcho was curious as to what the other Fallohide families would think about such a proposal, and he began considering meeting with the fathers. First, he would question his brother-in-law, since they had not discussed the Chubbs comments as of yet.

~*~*~

Third Morning after Wolves: Henry Chubb

Henry shivered under his blanket and curled up into a ball renouncing the arrival of morning. His mother saw him stirring and insisted he rise to help her with packing and breakfast. Most of the settlers were already busy about their wagons and fires, preparing for the new day. An excitement was in the air this morning. Henry had heard the adults talking the night before and they would be crossing the boundary of the new land today, although their destination lay still a few weeks away. The young hobbit was, to a degree, uncertain as to why they were not stopping once they reached their land, but he shared in the anticipation regardless of his understanding.

The Chubbs had a short breakfast and were soon piled onto the cart moving slowly down the road. Henry was pleased to be allowed to ride in the front with his father this morning, and he took advantage to ask his father all about the new land and why they weren’t stopping when they crossed the river. His father told him that they would be able to establish better trade in the White Downs opposed to the area on the other side of the forest. Henry chewed on this a while before asking with whom they would trade. His father mumbled a reply about Big Folk and Elves, and Henry wondered whether Elves liked eggs and milk enough to trade with them. The two, father and son, sat quietly in their own thoughts until Marcho stopped them for lunch.

The morning had become progressively cloudy and a strong wind was picking up. Henry had a hard time keeping his food on his plate and resorted to hunching his shoulders and surrounding his lunch with his entire body to keep it still. This method worked for the remainder of break, and then it was back on the cart for Henry.

His mother requested to sit with his father this time, so he rode in the back for a while before hopping down to walk awhile. They had been on the road for just a couple of hours since their short lunch, when the sound of the rushing water could be heard. Henry tried to get a look, but there were too many wagons in front of them to see very far ahead. This is it, he thought. This is our new land! The young hobbit was finding it difficult to keep his excitement under control.

~*~*~

Melisil’s Post: Alora Whitfoot

Alora, her family, and all the other assortments of Hobbits traveling with them had been traveling hard most of the day so far. The weather had been very windy for almost the whole of it. Just a few hours after lunch had been eaten, the crowd arrived at a river. The wind was getting pretty strong by now.

“What’s this river called, Crispin?” Alora asked.

“Dad said that it’s called the Baranduin Alora.”

“Oh, ok.” Alora said, daydreaming slightly. The wagons began to ride over the bridge; their wagon was near the front of the line. Alora hopped off, and started walking beside the wagon. Alora glanced at the water; even at the start of a storm, it was somehow beautiful. Every wave it made, every ripple it created, pulled Alora closer to it. She stood at the railing of the bridge, leaning over slightly, as to see just a bit more of the wonderful river. She leaned over a bit more, and a bit more again. She leaned through the railings. I wonder what it would be like to be a fish, swimming in the river, she thought to herself. She extended to tiptoe, peering as hard as she could into the water, watching for the fish.

All of a sudden, ‘Splash!!’ Alora’s foot had slipped, and down she fell, off the bridge, and engulfed in the strangely warm feeling water. She screamed as she fell. She screamed again as she surfaced the water. Fear began to overtake her. Alora started kicking her feet and flaying her arms. The water seemed so much less inviting now, the magic had disappeared. “Mommy!” she screamed, as she surfaced again, “Daddy!” She fell under the water again. Alora couldn’t see what anyone was doing up on the bridge. She screamed, and gasped for breath, every chance she could.

~*~*~

Marcho

Marcho heard the frightful scream behind him and pulled his wagon to a screeching halt. Leaping from his wagon, the hobbit shouted an inquiry, but no one was quite sure what had happened. Several hobbits were leaning over the rail of the bridge, and then he saw the lass bobbing in the waves…

[ArwenBaggins]

Crispin let out a slight yelp and forced the old soggy piece of straw from his mouth. He saw little Alora bobbing helplessly in the river, waves rising ever-nearer her curly head.

"Alora!" He shoved the chewing item into his pocket and climbed over the bridge. Yes, his sister was a nuisance, but he couldn't have her drown! Jumping into the water, he pushed his way toward his little sister.

He was not a champion swimmer by no means; he was barely even 'good' at swimming. Right now, however, you could not tell. Crispin flapped and kicked against the current to the hobbit lass. "Alora! Alora! I'm coming, don't worry!" He soon reached the girl, who was flailing aimlessly and sinking fast.

Throwing his arm around her, Crispin struggled toward the shore. "Crispin! I'm scared!" Alora kept muttering, fear growing in Crispin as well. The water was cold and the current was strong...

They finally were within reaching distance of shore. Crispin was about to toss Alora onto the greenish-brown grass when he felt a thick cane around his neck. "Ack!" He flew upon shore, lying coughing and hacking for a moment.

Checking to see if Alora was indeed on shore as well, his eyes fell sharply onto the old Chubb. Great! Now that old goat will get all the recognition for saving 'two young hobbits' when only ONE needed saving! He struggled up from the ground and sat, sopping, in the grass with Alora, who had crawled up next to him.

"You two shouldn't play around! Be more careful, Whitfoots!" The last word was partly sneered, but not too obviously that anyone could hear. Fordogrim hobbled back to his wagon, leaving Crispin huffing angrily next to the bridge.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim stalked away from the Whitfoot children grumblingly angry about the situation. He was glad that the children were all right, but he knew that the Whitfoots were going to blame May and Henry for the accident. Relations between the families had appeared to become better in the last couple of days as Harold had made a concerted effort to make up for the fight; even Kalimac had become somewhat more careful in his dealings with the Chubbs. Between the Whitfoot father and Fordogrim, however, there remained an icy formality – neither one of them had mentioned Kalimac’s attack on the elderly hobbit, nor the accidental assault on Kalimac’s nose with the knobbled cane…Fordogrim gripped the cane tightly in his gnarled hands. The same cane as just saved his fool-headed children he reflected bitterly.

Fordogrim’s mood had been getting steadily worse since the wolf attack and he would have been hard-pressed to explain why. He supposed it had something to do with the pain in his hip, which the attack by Kalimac followed by the scuffle with the wolves had done little to help. Whatever the reason, he had become sullen in aspect and quicker with his tongue than even his family was used to. Even May had come in for some lengthy pieces of unsought ‘advice,’ and it was only through a monumental effort of will that Fordogrim had resisted the urge to tell Marcho everything that he thought of this venture. The scout, perhaps sensing the old hobbit’s mood, had taken to avoiding him whenever possible.

Fordogrim reached Stout and hauled himself up the pony’s side. His friend’s wounds were healing from the wolf attack, but like his master Stout now walked with a bit of a limp which had forced the old hobbit to ride in the cart with his family from time to time to give Stout a rest. This closer proximity had only increased the tensions within the family, but so far no-one had spoken of it. Harold looked over to his father and asked if the Whitfoot children were safe. “Aye, that they are,” Fordogrim replied as gruffly as possible. He did not know why, but since they had left Bree he had saved his foulest moods for his son. “But like as not, those Whitfoots will be a-blaming our Henry and May for that. Fool Whitfoots!” Fordogrim could see his son biting his tongue, and for some reason this only made him angrier. “Where is it we’re at again, anyway son?” he demanded.

“This is the Baranduin River, father. It’s the beginning of the new land we’ve come to live in.”

“The Brandywine, eh? Seems mighty dangerous to me; not the kind of place for sensible hobbits to live” He looked pointedly at where the Whitfoot children were being tended to by their parents.

“It’s the Baranduin,” Harold said. Is that a sigh he just fetched at me? “And we’re not going to live next to the River – we’ve got days and days of travel to go still.”

“Eh! What’s that? Days more to go, you say? Well if there’s days still to go yet, then why is that there crack-brain Marcho making such a ballyhoo about reaching this here Brandywine?” He emphasised the last word, seeking to get a rise out of his son. He did not know why he was spoiling for a fight, but he was. He glared about him at the rest of the Chubbs, waiting for one of them to succumb to his baiting.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold could not help but grin when his father called the Baranduin River by the name ‘Brandywine.’ Just yesterday, Marcho had told him that ‘Baranduin’ was an Elvish word that had something to do with the golden brown color of the river. But the muddy waters did look a lot like his favorite mug of foaming ale: what Hobbits call ‘Bralda-hîm’, or loosely ‘Brandywine’ in the common tongue. He’d have to remember that name and pass it along to his friends.

But except for that lone humorous and clever comment, Grandpa Fordo seemed to be even more grumpy and irritated than before. He had snapped at Harold curtly about how “crack-brained Marcho” had made such a fuss about reaching the river when days still remained in their trip. Although Harold had been angry at Marcho for tearing him away from Bree, he was slowly revising his opinion of the Fallohide leader. If it hadn’t been for their rescue by this so-called “crack-brained Marcho”, Harold would not be alive, and neither would his father.

It almost seemed as if Granda was purposely trying to pick a fight with him. For a minute, Harold thought of responding sharply to his father’s whining and teaching him a lesson. He wanted to tell him that Marcho was not a ‘crack-brained leader’, but the one who had enough sense not to race into the forest along with the two of them. Instead, he had carefully rounded up the rest of the Hobbits and formed a rescue team that had made the difference in driving away the wolves.

Maybe, Harold reasoned, it was time for him to start thinking ahead too. Even though Harold was irritated with his father, he bit his tongue and stopped himself from taking up Fordo’s bait and throwing it back at him. Instead, he grinned broadly and said, “Dad, you’re never going to change. The Chubb family will get through this just fine if we can only manage to stay together. We’re tougher than any of those Fallohides.”

Harold reached over and affectionately wrapped his arms around his irascible father. Just maybe, Harold had learned something from this journey after all.

**************************************************

Witch-Queen's post for Sarah:

Sarah sat there watching Harold and Fordo. It seemed like they were getting along now and Sarah was not as happy as before. It was because of Fordo that she and Harold wasn't as close. Sarah was not going to set back and watch Grandpa Chubb tear her family apart. She knew that it wouldn't be wise to talk to Grandpa about it now so Sarah decided to wait until Harold had left.

Minutes went by and Harold finally walked away from his father. Sarah thought it would be the perfect time to talk to the old hobbit. The tension between them had to be broken. After all Sarah didn't want the tension to go into her new home when it was made. "Father Chubb is it alright if we speak for a moment." Sarah had a look of concern on her face. Fordo nodded and Sarah proceeded. "Fordo, it seems as if there is some tension between the two of us. Perhaps it is best if we settle our differences. After all it will make the journey more interesting if we did." She didn't want another family fued on her hand. She couldn't stand to have Fordo mad at her since it only seemed to make everyone hate her.

Since the fight between us and the Whitfoots is over for now perhaps Grandpa and I can come to some agreement. If something was to happen, who knows what Grandpa would do to the rest of the family. It is wise that I get everything settled before we end this journey.

[alaklondewen]

Arestevana's Post: Elsa Whitfoot

When she saw both of her children in the river, Elsa’s first thought was to panic. She had too little attention to spare to register surprise when the unoccupied part of her mind realized that this emotion did not immediately take hold. She kept her head long enough to progress to a second, more logical thought. They can't swim. I can’t swim. Then terror set in, and she began fighting her way out of the crowd, trying to reach a point on the bank where she could reach the children.

When she reached the shore, Elsa found her children safe and out of the water, pulled to safety by Mr. Chubb’s cane. She arrived in time to hear a short lecture about safety near a river. When Fordogrim concluded his lecture, Elsa felt inclined to pick up where he had let off. Then she saw her children laying on the river bank, drenched and shivering, and hurried forward to hug them both. Kalimac came up as well, and soon both were comforting the children and trying to dry them off with several towels proffered by families with wagons parked nearby.

Having concluded that her children were all right, Elsa began to relax slightly. She was shaking, having realized how close she had come, once again, to losing both her children. They seemed to have recovered somewhat, and were slightly drier, she noted, but their clothes were thoroughly drenched and very muddy. Elsa led them back to the wagon and found them dry clothes, absently removing a piece of hay from Crispin’s vest pocket as she handed him a fresh shirt. She gave it little thought, her mind occupied. Twice! That’s twice we could have lost them, now. Is this the price of our new land; such constant danger to our children? The new land was a sweet dream, but it will never be worth that much. Perhaps we should go home.

[alaklondewen]

Marcho was relieved the child was safely returned to shore, and he internally noted the hand (or cane) Fordogrim Chubb had in the affair. The old hobbit seemed to be made of tougher stuff than the scout would have originally guessed. Marcho stood back and watched his brother-in-law and Elsa drying their children and hugging them desperately. This was the second time in the last week their children could have been lost, and the scout felt sorry for them both. The Fallohide had expected the journey to be a difficult one, but he had not fully understood how much so until the last few days.

Once the hobbits had returned to their wagons and carts, Marcho tugged on the reigns to his ponies and moved the band on down the road. Crossing the bridge did the hobbit’s heart good, and he couldn’t help grinning as he surveyed the land around him. Sure, he had walked and looked over the area before with his brother, but now the land he saw was their land…his people’s land. The ground was much flatter now and they traveled parallel to another river that had yet had a name he that he knew. The whisper of the water’s movement was music his ears…music he would hear for the next three days. The group would have no problem finding fresh fish for meals and water for drinking now.

The wind persisted for much of the day, but no storm came as the dark clouds had threatened to bring earlier. They halted once before their final camp to let their ponies rest, and finally, as the shadows grew long and the sun was close to failing in the west, Marcho stopped his ponies and directed the others to make camp.

The air was still warm and the hobbits were of a merry mood as they prepared their meals. Some of the younger hobbits sat of the edge of the river bank trying to catch a few fish before the sun was completely gone. A few of the adults spoke freely of their anxiety of the lads being near the water so soon after the little Whitfoot lass almost drowned, but apparently their parents were not so concerned.

Marcho stretched his weary legs out and lay on the bare ground just outside the circle of camp. Looking up he watched the stars pop out from the growing darkness of the sky. This is our sky…our sky, he thought. His dreams were becoming a reality. His people would be able to live their lives peacefully without the interference of the Big Folk. No more, he thought. They wouldn’t live their lives under the thumb of those who were twice their size. They were their own people now.

[Child of the 7th Age]

By the time the Chubbs were clearing the supper dishes, a heavy fog had blanketed the entire camp, veiling the families and their belongings in an eerie haze. Harold had gone off to fill his family's leather water pouches. Everyone was camped beside a gentle tributary that branched off the Baranduin and then ran westward, one that the Hobbits had taken to calling "The Water"

Refilling the bottles and turning back to camp, Harold inched forward with some difficulty since he could see no further than a few inches in front of his nose. The Hobbit shuddered as he heard the screech of a hoot owl, but continued to tramp through the thick underbrush, although he was barely able to make out the path leading towards the camp. By this point, darkness had totally swallowed up the few brave stars that had earlier attempted to shine out from behind a heavy curtain of clouds.

Harold heaved an audible sigh of relief when he finally managed to find his way back to the clearing and saw Sarah seated on the ground waiting for him next to the campfire.. Marcho had already warned the others that he expected them to set out on the road very early in the morning. Most had gone to bed shortly after dinner.

Harold and Sarah were the only two still awake in camp. They sat hand in hand, quietly whispering to each other about the events of the day. Finally, Sarah stretched, yawned and stood up, indicating that she was going off to prepare for bed. Harold puttered around the campfire a few more minutes, extinguishing the last of the glowing cinders and throwing a bit of water and dirt onto the pit to make sure it was entirely cold.

Hastily retreating to the wagon, Sarah yanked a nightgown over her head. She stopped for a moment to unlatch her precious topaz necklace and carefully hung it on the nail that Harold had pounded into the sideboard expressly for this purpose. Soon both Hobbits were asleep in their bedrolls, the same as the other travellers. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Grandpa Fordo who had earlier that evening drawn the short stick and was now supposed to be on sentry duty. Grandpa was patrolling the perimeter of the campsite, armed only with his sharp wits and a cane. His sole companion was his horse Stout who trotted along comfortably beside him.

The day had been long, and Granda's eyes were growing heavy. He sat down for a moment in a comfortable patch of leafy ferns and tall grass, positioning his back against a massive oak. He intended to rise in just a moment to continue his inspection of the camp. But the grass was like velvet, soft and inviting; the crickets sounded their sweet serenade. In the distance, a great owl hooted again, this time in a much gentler tone. Soon, Grandpa's head nodded once and then twice as it fell to the side and grazed against his shoulder. The old Hobbit was sound asleep......


*************************************************


The Hobbit camp was arranged in three distinct sections. The Fallohide wagons were drawn together in a circle near the front of the line, on the side of the compound closest to the river. Landowners and forest dwellers, the Fallohides tended to own the larger and faster ponies, and thus had less difficulty keeping up with the line of march. Morever, their proximity to the river gave them the advantage of not having to go so far in order to fill their water skins and lug them back again. The few Stoors among the travellers were positioned in the middle, while the Harfoot families who made up the single largest group of Hobbits, remained at the rear of the procession, set back the farthest from The Water.

A dark shadow slunk in from the east and then squatted in the thick grasses and bracken that lined the base of the hill. Garlin Woolthistle, former citizen of Bree, a rascal and scoundrel to boot, was descended from a long line of burghurs that had once served as proprietors of the Prancing Pony. But that was in another lifetime. Garlin's overfondness for good ale and his well known dislike of the Little Folk had doomed him to failure as a barkeeper at the Inn. He had lost his reputation and most of his possessions, and was finally reduced to earning a living by thievery and other questionable means.

Dressed entirely in black and wearing a hooded cloak pulled low over his face, Garlin hid behind a boulder. He cautiously stood up and peered into the night, trying to get a better look at the long procession of travellers who were camped near The Water. He had actually been following the Hobbits ever since they had crossed the Baranduin River, but always being careful to stay out of sight.

Tonight, he decided, would be a good time to strike. He was very adept at what he did. Garlin reasoned that the stupid Little Folk would never know what hit them. They were all sound asleep and the only sentry on duty, an old man who apparently didn't carry a weapon, was also snoring as well. Garlin reached down and fingered the belt at his side, feeling the outline of his sword hilt and his two throwing daggers. He would rather depend on speed and stealth than brute force but he would use the weapons if it became necessary.

As the shadowy figure slunk into camp, he came to the rear of the procession where the Harfoot families were camped. Quietly he went from wagon to wagon, ransacking the chests and bags that the families had brought with them. He took a trinket or two out of each family's luggage: a brass candlestick, a shiny copper dish, a sharp dagger, a sturdy axe and a host of other small items, none of them terribly valuable. He dropped each one in a cloth sack that he carried on his back. Only when he'd come to the last wagon did he see something that attracted his attention. On a nail at the side of the wagon hung a lovely necklace with a gleeming topaz stone. He grinned at the sight of it. This would make his entire night worthwhile! He hurriedly stuffed it inside his pocket before retreating back to the river. He had confined his activities to the Harfoot families and had never gotten to the other parts of camp where the Stoors and the Fallohides were sleeping.....

***************************************

A little boy in the Whitfoot family stirred nervously in his sleep. He had been having a very bad dream. He bolted upright in bed and shook the sleep out of his eyes. He knew he shouldn't go very far, but he felt he would bust if he didn't get out for a minute. Quietly slinking out of his bedroll, he sprinted down towards the river, taking a quick drink of water and then immediately coming back to his family and slipping under the bedclothes.

The one thing he did not know was that Adelard, the biggest gossip in the entire camp, had spied him running back and forth and begun to wonder what sort of mischief he had gotten into....

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim felt a light familiar touch on his arm and he awoke with a start. At first, he did not know where he was but remembrance came quickly. I’m on watch, he cursed himself, and here I am falling asleep on the job! A welcome voice called out to him and he looked up into the suddenly bright night Where did the fog go? And what’s that full moon doing up there, he’s not due for another week? and saw Prim standing in the grass looking down at him with that lovely little smile of hers.

She was not as he had seen her before she went away, but young and lovely once more, with round cheeks like apples and that complexion like fresh cream. Fordogrim smiled like roses blooming. “Why Prim!,” he cried, “What are you doing here? Not that you aren’t a sight for my tired old eyes.”

Prim only smiled. “Hello, Grim my love. Are you well?”

“As well as can be, my dear, what with the journey that we’re on. Did you know…”

She laid her hand on his arm, cutting him off, and said, “Grim. I’ve been getting your letters, I know all about it. You’ve been very hard on young Marcho, you know, he’s only been doing what he thinks is best.” He looked down at the grass and mumbled something inaudible. Prim continued, “How are Harold and Sarah? And the children?”

“May and Henry are well, if a fine couple of trouble-makers. You should be that proud of Mayflower, Prim, she grows more and more like you every day. Such a spirit she has! Harold’s well, although he and I are having a bit of rough patch right now. He’s kind of stuck, I think, between home and where we’re going and I can’t help but wish that he were unstuck, and unstuck my way, if you know what I mean.” He looked up at his wife and saw that she did. He smiled. “We nearly had some words just earlier today, but he’s like you in that he knows when to hold his tongue and let his actions do his talking for him” his mind went back to the hug he had received from his son. “He’s not like his father in that way at all is he my love?”

“No, Grim, he isn’t. But he’s like you in other ways. Remember how he charged after the wolves with you? At least we know he’s as thoughtless and fool-headed as his father.”

“Maybe, maybe.” Fordogrim brooded a bit more before speaking. “I’m afraid that I was something quick with Sarah as well. She tried to speak with me today about things, but I was that bebothered and confusticated by Harold that I kind of snapped back at her and refused to speak with her properly. I’m afraid that she and I are just never going to see eye to eye on things.” He recalled with shame the curt words he had used in response to Sarah’s desire to talk with him about the family. She had chosen a bad moment – Fordogrim was still angry about the journey and feeling in a fouler and fouler mood with each day that passed. He didn’t want anything but a fight at the moment.

“You should try harder to get along with them, you know” Prim said. “They are your family. Sarah’s a difficult person, I know, but so are you! And she is our Harold’s wife, and look how much he loves her!”

“You’re right, I know, but it’s that hard for me to get along with folk, and it only seems to have got harder since you went away.” He looked up at Prim and marvelled at her beauty. “How did you get here my love? And why are you looking so well? You look just like you did the day we met, and I know that’s not possible…”

She smiled at him once more and cupped his chin in one hand. Leaning close she kissed him on his forehead. “Maybe you’re dreaming.”

“Aye, I think I am.” And with a start, he awoke.

[Kransha]

For the first time in days, Kalimac Whitfoot felt like he welcomed sleep. Even though he did not and would have preferred to be on watch instead of old Fordogrim Chubb, he accepted the heaviness of his eyelids. Sand filled his stern orbs as they shut reluctantly. There had been some minor mishaps recently, which had alarmed Elsa as he expected, but oddly enough, that bumbling ancient fool of a Harfoot had done something right for once and saved his own offspring from watery talons, if one could call them that. Kal wanted to make amends, but he still tried to convince himself that the Chubb had done all of this rescuing by accident. He’d never gotten around to giving Fordogrim a hearty thanks for his deed, but he assured himself that he’d do it eventually. Now, he was content to sleep and dream of better things.

Bree had always been beautiful to him, but this new land, a land that was at least partially his by right, would be so much greater and he knew it. He could see the vast land stretched out before him on a mental plane; endless greenery as far as the eye could see, rolling hills that dipped and sloped like oceanic waves, lush treed groves dotting the subtle horizon, a red-rimmed golden sun hanging aloft in the sky; it was the stuff stories were written about. Through hardships and woe, through mishap and mischance, the company if Halflings would come to a new home after a harrowing quest to be remembered eternally by hobbit kind. It was a story that his children, Crispin and Alora, would tell to his grandchildren as he sat in some billowing-cushioned lounge chair in a cozy study, smoking a pipe and watching wisps of smoke climb to his ceiling and expand out into the room’s warm air. He could hear the crackling fire and the birds chirping with their chiming notes from outside and the gentle yet rhythmic fluttering of their delicate wings.

His dream was vivid enough to give him that idea, at least. There were fields everywhere decked with flowery gardens and neat little houses all around. He could see the new hobbit abodes, and yet their shape was unperceivable to his sleeping eye, so he dismissed the contours of his new world and surveyed the landscape and the flowing rivers that severed the horizon in two. It was such a stunning sight, a golden hue covering the land offset by the natural green of the amber gardens. He saw Crispin, Alora, and Elsa, standing on the cobblestone path that lead through a great garden to what he knew to be his home. Unfortunately, there was now a rainy sheet coming down upon the area and the hobbit folk around fled inside. But still, it was so perfect: a quiet, peaceful, tranquil, uninterrupted paradise for his kind.

The first ray of sunlight struck Kalimac from his reverie, beaming almost through his shielding eyelid as the eye opened and bringing the new day in with blinding force. Slowly, the hobbit rubbed sand from his eyes and tried in vain to stand, only sagging into a crumpled heap of Halfling looking up at the wagon he’d fallen asleep leaning again. Yawning and groaning, Kalimac pushed himself up into a sitting position and smoothed the wrinkles in his dusty vest, grumbling under his breath. A new day had dawned, as Kalimac kept reminding himself. The night had soothed his racing mind, but now work had to be done again and more progress had to be made. Snorting with indignation at nothing in particular, Kalimac tried to stand again and failed just as quickly as he had the first time, landing where he had before.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold opened his eyes and sat up with a great yawn. He stumbled over to the wagon where his wife had saved a few taters for breakfast. Harold's stomach growled: he thought he could already smell the sweet aroma of the taters frying in the pan.

Glancing over to the sideboard of the wagon, Harold was shocked to note that his wife's topaz necklace was not its usual loation. He distinctly remembered her removing it from her lovely neck and placing it on the nail. Overnight, the necklace had completely disappeared. In a frenzy, Harold desperately searched all around the wagon . He overturned boxes and strewed utensils on the floor as he tore the family's belongings apart.

Just when he was about to give up his search, he heard his neighbor Lavender Goodbody shrieking in frustration at the top of her lungs, as she complained about the loss of her mother's heirloom candlestick. From another wagon, he heard a cry from someone who couldn't find his axe for chopping wood. Harold couldn't believe that all these Hobbits had suddenly become careless with their most important possessions. Yet at the same time he didn't want to think that one of his fellow Hobbits would do such a sneaky thing. But what other conclusion could he possibly draw? Whoever the thief had been, he must have been very experienced not to wake any of his victims. And of all the things he owned, this was the one he valued most because he had worked so hard for it, and it was a loving present to his wife. He vowed to catch the person who had stolen such a precious object.

Harold barked out a curt warning to his wife and father to get up quickly because Sarah's necklace was missing and had probably been stolen. Then he stormed off frustrated and angry in the direction of Marcho. Perhaps Marcho would know who had perpetraed this wretched crime. On his way, he noticed that none of the Stoor or Fallohide families had been visited by the thief. Harold thought that rather suspicious, but reminded himself that jumping to premature conclusions was not wise. Marcho was standing by his wagon as Harold arrived.

"Marcho, we've got a serious problem. Last night my wife set her necklace in its usual place on a nail in the wagon. Now, it's missing. I searched everywhere but couldn't find it. And thast's not all! Many of my Harfoot neighbors can't find their belongings either. I don't mean to blame you, but I'm very upset. Could we talk to everybody in camp and see if they heard any strange noises or saw something suspicious last night? Let me get my father who had watch duty. Maybe he knows something."

[alaklondewen]

Marcho was not pleased by the news brought by Harold Chubb. Missing property was one thing, but stolen property was a serious issue, especially if a hobbit among them was the offender. As the scout followed the Harfoot through the camp to meet Fordogrim, he noticed that no one among the Fallohides and Stoors appeared to be troubled. Could this be simply an attack on the Harfoots? Of course, it might be possible that a few things were misplaced, or one of the children was playing a prank.

When Fordogrim came into view, Harold went ahead of Marcho and spoke a few hushed words to his father. The scout saw the elder shake his head and look slightly confused.

“Mr. Chubb,” Marcho tipped his head in greeting. “You were guard last night. Do you remember hearing or seeing anything out of the ordinary, Sir?” The Fallohide knelt next to the hobbit and awaited his reply.

[Memory of Trees]

May tossed in her hard bed in the wagon. It was too hot in here to sleep, and besides, she wasn't feeling sleepy anyway. Quietly, she got up and stole gently across the wagon bed and out into the cool night air. She padded down to the water's edge and sat down in the soft grass. For the first time that day May felt as if she could breathe.

It was a clear, cool night, and May turned her face up to the velvet sky. The stars seemed so close tonight, so real, as if she could reach up and touch any one of them. May tried to imagine what touching a star would be like. Cold, like ice, she thought, but it would burn and tingle, too. Fiery ice. May looked up at the sky and imagined strumming the stars with her fingertips. Just like harp strings, she imagined. They would probably make music, too, clear and haunting and ancient, just like the sky itself. Singing stars. May closed her eyes and smiled.

There was a noise from the wagon. Glancing over her shoulder, May saw her father leave the wagon. His lamp made eerie shadows in the grass as he strode off toward Mister Bolger's wagon. Wonder what he's up to? May thought.

She laid back on the soft hill of dirt she was sitting on. As much as she'd tried to forget the day's events, the images kept playing themselves over and over in her mind. And Adelard's sneering face was right in the middle of them.

~~~

It had started after the forest episode. Adelard was in a nasty mood the next day (surprise, surprise), and determined that someone should pay for "dragging him off into the forest and injuring his innocent person." He demanded that whoever was responsible should be forced to care for him until his was sufficiently recovered from his illness. And yes, of course. Mayflower Chubb was entirely responsible for the entire mishap.

Or so Adelard was convinced.

And what could her mother and father do? She had been irresponsible, and she should be punished. Besides, the Proudfoots were a very wealthy family!

May was furious, to say the least. Any sympathy she had felt for the Proudfoot boy had vanished when his stood, face purple with rage, pointing an accusing finger at her, and yelling about what an injustice she had caused him. No, May was not pleased at all.

And right now May was quite convinced that she hated Addy Proudfoot. With all her heart she hated every inch of his fat, stuck-up self.

May got up and returned to the cart.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim was shocked to see the sun almost above the horizon when he opened his eyes. He felt immediate shame at having slept through the night and not waking the next watch. He hoped that nothing had gone wrong while he had been asleep. “Of all the woolly-pated, knuckle-skulled pumpkin heads in the world. Fordogrim, you must be one of the worst,” he railed at himself. Stout leant down his old head and nuzzled Fordogrim as though to assure him that there was one creature in the world, at least, who loved him as much as Prim had. Fordogrim’s scowl transformed into a smile at the memory of his dream. It had been so real that he cast about on the ground for signs of her footsteps, but there were none, of course. Harold’s shadow loomed on the grass before him and Fordogrim scrambled to his feet (with more than a little help from his son).

Harold quickly informed him of the apparent thefts and asked if he had heard or seen anything on watch last night. Fordogrim immediately thought of his vision but decided that was probably not the kind of thing his son was asking after. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t say as I did.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “But I wasn’t altogether…well…you see, I couldn’t have seen everything that happened last night for I, well…” Fordogrim never liked to admit when he was at fault, and given the gravity of his mistake, he found telling his son a difficult thing. He had never approved of the necklace, Useless gewgaw, but he knew how much it meant to Harold and Sarah and he felt bad that he had been the cause of its theft.

Marcho Bolger chose that moment to approach and demand (or so it seemed to the elderly hobbit) if he had seen anything suspicious. Fordogrim scowled at the scout and retorted sharply. “As I was just a-saying to my son, who’s already asked me that question, no, I did no see anything out of the ordinary, or in the ordinary for that matter. For I was, well, to be as honest as I’d hope any hobbit would be – I was asleep. I know that I shouldn’t a-been sleeping” he rushed ahead of Marcho’s recriminations, “but there it is: I was. Now, I’m not one to go about casting blame away from me as belongs to me, but if you leave an old hobbit whose been attacked by wolves and saving certain children from rivers to try and keep his eyes open, when younger ones than his get to close for the night, well, I think you can’t complain overmuch when those old eyes fail you.”

Marcho seemed on the verge of speaking but Fordogrim did not give him the chance. His temper had been on a slow boil for days, and now it had hit the very limit of the pot’s endurance. As he saw things, he’d been dragged from his home and lead through the wild to be assaulted by Whitfoots, threatened by wolves, and now accused by Bolgers – to make matters worse, the son who had taken him on this wild-brained, crack-headed fool-hearted venture now stood beside the very scout who had taken them into the wild and exposed them all to these dangers…and Fordogrim to the sting of his own guilty conscience. None of this, he reflected angrily would have happened if I’d been allowed to live out my life in my own hole! The elderly hobbit rounded on his son. “Don’t you dare stand there accusing me with that crack-brain Bolger scout. If we hadn’t come on this gallavant we’d none of us be in the dangers we’re in, and you and I would still be comfortable and happy in our hole! You should have a-listened to me, my son, and stood well enough alone! I know why you came out here, though! I know! It was your wife as led you to it! And you, squandering good money on a ridiculous necklace – a necklace that’s good for nothing more than puffing up her vanity and attracting the eyes of thieves! I won’t say I’m glad it’s been stolen, but I ain’t sorry it’s gone!” Days of fury and frustration, of anxiety and of feeling old, of the incessant pain in his leg and of the ache in his heart – all of it came out, motivated and set afire by his shame at having failed his family in his duty. “I know what you all think of me: ‘Useless old Grandpa Fordo. Good for naught but nagging word and to tag along at our heels.’ Well, it’s true, and I guess we’ve all seen it now!”

As he raged, the tears started in his eyes, and he longed for the calming presence of Prim. But she was gone now, and he was alone.

[alaklondewen]

Even in his comfortable straw bed that was covered with layers of padding, Adelard had not slept well. Every movement he made, be it small or large, made his injury throb, and so he lay awake most of the night in anguish. Now that morning had come round he was in a sour mood and feeling downright cantankerous. Looking around his camp he searched for someone whose mood he might ruin. There only seemed to be adult Fallohides up and busy at the moment, and he knew he would not get away will ordering them. He would just have to find May. She was supposed to be taking care of him and his injury now anyway.

Adelard told his mother what he wanted to break his fast, and then made his way through the hobbit camp. His family had stopped very close behind the Bolgers, so he still had to cross the Stoor hobbits before arriving at the Harfoots. As the Proudfoot neared the Chubb camp, he noticed Marcho and the Chubb men talking in hushed tones, but as he came closer old Fordogrim began shouting. Adelard ducked behind the nearest cart and listened.

“Don’t you dare stand there accusing me with that crack-brain Bolger scout. If we hadn’t come on this gallavant we’d none of us be in the dangers we’re in, and you and I would still be comfortable and happy in our hole!” Adelard heard the old hobbit crossly say to his son. Accuse him of what? The eavesdropper stuck his head out and leaned a bit closer to hear.

“I know! It was your wife as led you to it! And you, squandering good money on a ridiculous necklace – a necklace that’s good for nothing more than puffing up her vanity and attracting the eyes of thieves! I won’t say I’m glad it’s been stolen, but I ain’t sorry it’s gone!”

Adelard’s eyes widened and he sat back on his heels. Stolen?! But who? He looked around him accusatorily thinking of which of these indigent hobbits would be a thief. It was this moment that the Fallohide remembered seeing the young Crispin Whitfoot gallivanting about late after all others were sleeping. Adelard had immediately become suspicious of the lads actions, and now he knew why. The Proudfoot must have sensed the lad’s criminal activity. I’ve got to tell Fredigar, he thought and jumped up find the lawmaker. He might had stepped in and told Marcho what he knew, but Adelard thought the scout thought too much when obvious action was needed. He wanted someone to act now, not later. If Crispin Whitfoot was a thief, he needed to be punished…immediately.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Despite his father’s spirited rant, Harold detected an underlying ambivalence in the old man’s behavior and speech. Fordogrim seemed painfully aware of his blunder last night and didn’t want to be blamed for the theft, but was covering it over with a string of words. Harold sympathized with his father. He could imagine how guilty his dad must feel in failing to perform his obligation. Although, given the fact that his father’s aged eyes were not as sharp as they had once been, Harold wondered whether he would have seen the thief even if he had been awake. And maybe it was good that he had not been awake. Knowing his father, he bet that Fordo would have charged the infiltrator head-on and gotten himself injured or killed.

Upset and ashamed, Grandpa Fordo was now yelling at Harold about matters over which neither of them really had any control. Harold tried to respond calmly, determined not to worsen the situation further by inciting the already irritated Fordo.

“Father, you know as well as I do that I had absolutely no choice in moving. If I had my druthers, we would be back home in the fields outside Bree right now. But we’re not and I don’t see how complaining about our present situation helps. We were never given a choice, but simply told what to do. Believe me, I would rather be back in Bree, where my dear mother lies. But I fear that we must leave the Bree that we once loved behind and try to make a new life in the far downs. "

"No one is accusing you of anything. After a long day on the trail, all of us were tired. It's not your fault you dozed off, but simply the wear and grind of the journey. We just wanted to know if you'd heard any suspicious sounds that might point to the criminal. Perhaps we may learn something useful of this yet. And with some crazy fellow on the loose, it might be wiser to appoint two people for guard duty in the future so if one falls asleep; the other can wake them up." Harold glanced briefly in Marcho's direction and then went on.

"As for the necklace, I did not trade away so much of my milk just for the sake of Sarah’s vanity. It's a symbol of my great feeling for her and a display of my affection. Surely, dad, with how you felt about mother, you can understand that! You're the one who taught me that a wife can be the best friend a man can ever have. So don't begrudge her that little necklace."

"But, enough of that. This isn't helping anything. Dad, are you ready to catch the criminal? We could surely use your assistance and experience......"

[Witch_Queen]

My necklace... its gone? But it cannot be. Sarah didn't want to believe that it was stolen. Fordo should have seen something. I mean after all he was the watcher last night. Yet he says that he went asleep. I would not blame him, Grandpa is not as young as he use to be. Sarah walked over to where Fordo, Harold and Marcho was only to see that the words she overheard made Fordo mad. "Grandpa Chubb, has anyone got an idea about who it was stealing from the wagons last night." Sarah wasn't going to say it but she believed that there was a theif amongst them. She tried to keep her temper down since she heard Fordo's ugly remarks about how it was Sarah to blame for the Chubbs coming on the little "adventure."

I am not going to have a dim-witted old goat tell my husband what he can and cannot do. Harold is grown up now and does not have to have his father's permission. Especially if Harold feels that he wishes to buy me a gift like my wonderful topaz necklace. Which is still gone. I want it back and I will not stop until it is back around my neck where it belongs. No matter how hard Sarah tried to keep her temper down she couldn't. Grandpa had pushed her buttons too much and it was time for her to do something about it. "Grandpa you have said too much and done too little. I have tried to get along with you, which is out right impossible, but you persist in making everything my fault. Is it enough that you must criticize your own son about what he does for his family. Goodness, Fordo this must stop and it must stop now!" Sarah felt a little better about herself now that she had told Fordo almost everything on her mind. She had to keep some of it just in case Fordo should retaliate.

"So Mr. Chubb what do you wish to say about your behavior over the past years?" Sarah wasn't sure about Fordo liking her or not. She had the feeling that the fued was long sine overdue. It didn't matter to her anymore, Fordo was the straw that broke the cow's back. All Sarah wanted to do was give him a piece of her mind. Now she feared that it was too much.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Harold’s words went deep to Fordogrim’s heart – and cut a bit when they got there. He did know what it was like to love the woman in your life so much that you did crazy things for her: things that to outsiders must look like madness. He remembered back to the year of Great Tempest when he had spent much of the storm in the flower garden, staking up the sweet peas and gladiolas that his Prim loved so much when everyone else had been in the orchards trying to save the fruits of their harvest. He had seemed mad to everybody then – as his son had seemed to him now – but at the time he had not even thought about it. Prim’s happiness was simply more important than the crops. The old hobbit also had to admit the truth of Harold’s words about the move. There had been little choice. He began to see the Whitfoots in a wholly new light. For most of his life they had simply been his landlords; like the great stone in the middle of his fields, they were an uncomfortable fact of life that you had to work around. But perhaps his relation to them was somewhat different. He had always assumed that they thought about him in the same way – as a fact of their lives, but not a part of their daily existence. But the way they had treated Henry and May in their desire for babysitting came back to him. And Kalimac’s overbearing manner toward him in the ensuing fight. Perhaps the Whitfoots simply took the Chubbs for granted. His aged mind shifted and clunked into a new idea: Harold had not chosen to follow the Whitfoots as one chooses to accept a bad frost, he had been compelled to go with them on this crack-brained adventure.

His mind was still whirling with this when Sarah stood before him, her hands on her hips, and raged at him for his attack. At first, Fordogrim felt all of his anger well up at this affront to his dignity, but having just come to the realisation of his son’s position, Sarah’s words quickly followed Harold’s into his heart, where they stung deeply indeed. While there was truth to what she said about Harold, Fordogrim was not going to accept her accusations against him. His face grew red and he pulled himself upright. Harold placed a calming hand on his shoulder, and the gesture was so much like something that Prim would have done that he could have cried again. It did much to still his heart, but he could not hold back all of his words.

“I’m not easy to get along with, am I? Well, I’m an old hobbit and I’ve been around long enough to know the way I like things done, and there’s no denying that. Still, I’m not so old that I can’t see when I’ve gone and got something wrong, and I can see now that mayhap I’ve had this journey all wrong from the start. Mayhap it wasn’t that you and Harold had much of a choice in this. Mayhap it was others as I won’t go accusing here” but he looked pointedly at the Whitfoot camp “left us all with precious little choice. But you” and he pointed his cane angrily at Sarah, “you wanted to come on this here journey, and you can’t go as denying it! Now I’m sorry if you feel that I’ve been a-blaming you for all that’s gone wrong, as that’s just not how it is. There’s plenty of blame to go around” and he glared and Marcho, “and there’s far more of it than any one hobbit can bear. So I’m sorry to you for making you feel as though I hold you responsible for all, my Sarah, I really am. But as you’ve started this fight, I have to say that you’re no easy person to get along with either. There was a way of doing things about the hole that I’d been comfortable with for many years. Ways that I’d come to count on for when I gave over the running of the farm to my son, and all those ways were done and gone the moment you stepped across the threshold. Now there’s no way anyone could replace my Prim, and I don’t say as you should try, but as I said I’m an old hobbit and set in my ways and in my place, and I don’t take well to folk meddling with that. And Sarah – and I’m sorry to say this Harold, but she’s asked me for it – you are as meddlesome a hobbit lass as any I’ve met!”

[Witch_Queen]

"So that is the way you want to put it you..." Sarah couldn't think of anything to counter act what Fordo had just said. Sarah felt bad about assuming that Fordo hated her and that was the way it was going to always be. "I am sorry Fordo. I would never want to take Prim's place. I know that if I can't win you over with my cooking and how much I love your son then there is no hope for you and I to get along. Now seeing as you have decided to continue this perhaps I should point out to you that I'm not a meddlesome hobbit. I am as stubborn as you are. That is not a compliment either."

Sarah's words struck her hard. She wasn't use to being affected by her own words. Stubborn and hard headed as Sarah was she didn't want to argue with Fordo until the day she died. "Fordo you have to agree both you and I are stubborn and hard headed. Though you might deny it, I won't. That is why Harold and I get along so well. He is so much like his mother that I fell in love with his kindness and sincerity. Fordo I am glad Harold hasn't turned out like you 'cause heaven forbid me but I wouldn't last a day if I was married to you. No offense to you but I can see why Prim was the way she was. Prim was a great woman and no matter how hard someone might try. That is one hobbit that no one can replace." Though Sarah barely knew Prim, Sarah could tell why Fordo had loved her so much. Opposites attract.

"I am sorry Fordo." Sarah gestured back to where the cart was. "I do have a mushroom pie waiting for Harold and you back at the cart. That is if you will forgive me and take the pie as a peace offering. But let me warn you even though you might not like my means of making peace you have to admit I'm a killer when I'm in the kitchen." Sarah knew the way to Fordo's heart was through his stomach. That was the way all hobbit men were to her. She loved her Harold and wasn't going to jeopardize her love for him because of Fordo. "I'm sorry?"

[alaklondewen]

“Fredigar! Fredigar!” The Headstrong hobbit was busy rolling up his small bundle of blankets when he heard his name being wildly shouted through the air. “Fredigar! Wait, Fredigar!” Fredigar raised his head and look about curiously until his gaze found young Adelard who was flailing his arms as he ran toward the hobbit.

“Adelard Proudfoot, what are you doin’ runnin’ about and shoutin’ my name? Boy, what’s the problem?”

Adelard stopped running and paused to catch his breath, then began spilling all the details of what he heard Old Fordogrim Chubb say and how he saw Crispin Whitfoot causing mischief during the night. Fredigar could feel the heat rising up his neck and into his cheeks. “So, we have a thief, do we? Well, I’ll just have to do something about that.” With that the self-appointed Sheriff marched off to find the perpetrator.

Adelard stood a brief moment, smiling at his part in the action, and then quickly jogged to catch up with Fredigar. This was just the kind of commotion the young Fallohide had longed for…a real drama. He couldn’t wait to see the Whitfoot lad’s face when he realized he was busted. Adelard grinned again, and if someone had seen him at that moment, they would have said the lad had a sparkle in his eye.

Crispin was sitting quietly on the ground eating his small breakfast, when Fredigar and Adelard found him. “Crispin Whitfoot,” the law enforcer roared in as booming a voice as he could muster. “Where were you during the night?”

Crispin tipped his head to one side and answered honestly, “Sleeping?”

“Don’t you get smart with me, son. Adelard, here saw you out last night after everyone was sleeping. Now, where did you go, and what did you do?” Glaring as he spoke, Fredigar towered over the young hobbit and put his hands on both hips.

The lad remained silent for a few moments. He seemed to be trying to remember, or understand, what Fredigar was wanting. The Headstrong figured Crispin was just trying to think of a lie to cover his tracks.

“I got up to get a drink of water,” Crispin finally said. “I couldn’t sl…”

“You little liar,” Fredigar hissed through his teeth. “I know exactly where you were. You were thieving these good hobbits. You’re a dirty thief. Get up, you’re coming with me.”

Crispin looked confused and didn’t move, so Fredigar grabbed hold of the boy’s arm and yanked him to his feet causing his breakfast plate to tumble to the ground. “I told you to get up.” Fredigar growled quietly in the lad’s ear. “Next time do what I say, when I say it.”

“What is the meaning of this?” The lad’s father stepped up to Fredigar.

“Kalimac, you’re son, here, is a thief. He was up stealing from the Harfoots last night. Took a pretty little necklace from your employees. I’m takin’ him with me, so he can’t take anything else from our neighbors.” Kalimac began to speak, but Fredigar brushed him off and shoved the boy ahead of him. “You won’t ever steal another item from us again, you here me, boy?”

Despite Crispin’s loud complaints, and those from his father, Fredigar (with a tag-along Proudfoot) took the Whitfoot lad back to his wagon where he made an announcement to all the settlers that they were not to fear…he’d found and apprehended their thief.

[ArwenBaggins]

Crispin was extremely confused and angry, and he was sure to let it show. "I told you that I was just gettin' a drink'a water! I didn't steal a necklace- or, or anything! Hey! Nooooo!" Crispin was shoved into the back of Fredigar's wagon; he snarled at the smirking Adelard standing off to the side a ways.

"Now, stay in there... thief," He closed the wagon door flap and Crispin was sitting in a dull darkness, a look of both innocence and hatred on his tanning face.

He pulled a new piece of hay from his shirt pocket, munching and chewing on it in contemplation- of a way to get out and prove himself innocent. That stupid Headstrong wouldn' even let Papa talk. I bet he knows that Papa knows I'm innocent! He huffed and slammed his fist down on a bag of salt, making small white grains fall over his legs. He would make sure everyone knew that he wasn't the one that stole all of the items... but how? There was no evidence- for or against him.

[Kransha]

Again, it had been a good day. The sun rose afresh in the sky, its gentle yet solid glowing beams pouring over the land that would soon be in some part that of Kalimac Whitfoot. That same hobbit felt that he needed not to eat, since he seemed to be filled with something that might constitute food, but was probably just anticipating nervousness that fluttered about as butterflies would in his round stomach. Unfortunately for the prosperous Halfling, all was not to go as planned. As Kalimac strolled aimlessly around the Fallohide end of the camp, taking careful note of his family members tending to their breakfasts, he took immediate notice of a much more unpleasant site.

It was old, rough and ready Fredigar Headstrong, a hobbit who had never seemed very amiable or likable to Kalimac. Kal tried to give all hobbit’s a chance to make themselves more friendly folk to him, but Fredigar was doing something that had just shattered his good mood like so much fallen glass. The hobbit stood over Crispin ominously and grabbed him forcefully. Kalimac’s mind didn’t even have time to race as a deep rooted anger, kept dormant for some time since his last ‘explosion’ during the semi-battle with Fordogrim and Harold Chubb, swelling and pulsing within him. He barely heard any of the conversation, but arrived just in time to see Fredigar grabbing his son more roughly and yelling something at him. Kalimac, already rising in fury as he saw the other hobbit handle his child so ignobly, stormed over as he caught snatches of the conversation.

“You little liar,” Fredigar hissed through his teeth. “I know exactly where you were. You were thieving these good hobbits. You’re a dirty thief. Get up, you’re coming with me.”

“What is the meaning of this?” he roared, barely a question in his protesting tone.

“Kalimac, you’re son, here, is a thief.” Replied Fredigar icily, dragging Crispin along as he spoke to the boy's father, “He was up stealing from the Harfoots last night. Took a pretty little necklace from your employees. I’m takin’ him with me, so he can’t take anything else from our neighbors.”

A thief? It was surely a mistake. There was no way in all of Eriador that any child of the Whitfoot clan could be a thief. They already had money, enough for anything they needed, so why would a Whitfoot even consider stealing some valuable from a poorer family? It was all too outrageous to be believable.

“Thief? My son a common robber? That’s preposterous! There has to be some mistake!”

“No mistake. This boy here, young Adelard, said he saw your son doing the very deed.”

Kalimac found himself walking behind Fredigar, who was unceremoniously dragging Crispin Whitfoot to his wagon and speaking. That ignorant hobbit wasn’t even listening! He was ignoring Kalimac, which also degenerated from his fiery mood. Kalimac’s face looked flush as he hurried behind Fredigar and his son until Headstrong had forced Crispin into the back of his wagon. Kalimac continued his utterly confused protests, trying to think of some pathetic tirade he could start.

“But…no, that can’t be…I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”

It was Adelard Proudfoot who responded, with a glib smirk upon his face. As Kalimac turned, he spoke dutifully as the time came. Kalimac watched the boy, a fully disgusted look paling his features, and turned to him slowly, trying to look remotely intimidating but failing. Adelard just spoke with a smiling ease, which further disgusted Kalimac as he realized, through the chaos that had covered this situation, what had just happened to him and his son. Suddenly, the overwhelming effect of this happenstance was gnawing at him, coupled with every other thing that had happened. He remembered his conversation with Marcho not long ago, in which he clarified his views. Was this all some cruel joke at his expense? It was a selfish thought, but that was the only thought rushing in him and fueling his surging anger.

“No sir, Mister Whitfoot. I saw it all myself with my own two eyes.”

That was just about it. Even though Kalimac had made a solemn promise not to lose his wits a second time, it happened. Unfortunately, instead of ending up in a brawl with a hobbit who was equal to size and strength with him, Kal found himself on the verge of tackling a Halfling boy. Ignoring Fredigar, Kalimac lunged at that irritating Adelard and grabbed him by the meager shirt collar, practically lifting him from the ground violently as he quivered with rage. His eyes nearly glowed with incendiary flame that wavered there.

“You little…you…you LIAR! You’re lying, you little scoundrel! Go on, tell the truth, tell Fredigar that it wasn’t my son that stole that necklace. NOW!”

[Arestevana]

Elsa wandered back toward the wagon at a leisurely pace, enjoying the freshness of the morning. She had just been down to the stream to wash up, and was considering making the children do the same. Crispin’s hair could use a trim, too. she mused. Arriving back at the Whitfoot’s wagon, Elsa discovered that Kalimac and Crispin had left. Mildly surprised, she glanced around. Seeing Opal Boffin run by, Elsa called out. “Opal, sweetie, have you seen Kalimac or Crispin?”

“They’re over at Mister Headstrong’s wagon. He got arrested!” the girl said excitedly. She ran off, leaving Elsa somewhat bewildered. Mister Headstrong was arrested? What could have possibly happened? Curiosity aroused, she hurried over to see. When she reached the wagon, she was confronted by a violent scene. Kalimac had hold of young master Proudfoot’s shirt collar and seemed about to strike the boy. Shocked, Elsa hurried forward, frightened by the rage she saw in her husband’s face.

“Kal! Kal, what’s the matter? Oh, please don’t hurt that boy, you know you don’t mean to!” She cried, babbling nervously. Kalimac was breathing hard but he released the boy, who surprisingly seemed more disdainful than frightened. He responded before Kalimac had recovered his calm, speaking with a pronounced smirk. “Crispin’s been arrested.” The lad said. “He was caught stealing from the folks at the other end of the caravan. Mister Headstrong has him shut up in the wagon.”

Elsa stared at him incredulously. Crispin? Stealing? Why would he do that? Surely he knows it is wrong… She thought about it for a moment, but could make no sense of the matter. Crispin wouldn’t steal, of that she was sure. So what is going on?

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold had been shocked to find his wife’s necklace gone and even more astounded to learn that several of his fellow Harfoots also seemed to be stripped of their possessions. He had brought this matter of thievery to Marcho’s attention eaerlier, but now the Whitfoot boy was being arrested. He just didn't seem like the type who would resort to stealing. On top of everything else, Marcho had been nowhere in sight when Fredigar dragged off Crispin.

Feeling slightly guilty for having initially spilled the news, Harold raced over to Marcho, bellowing out his news. "Come quick! Something's happened. Crispin's been arrested! Adelard claims Crispin is the thief and Kalimac looks as if he's about to blow his top."

Tugging on Marcho's sleeve, he hastily added, “ I just can't believe that. I’ve known Crispin since he was a little tike and he would never do something like this. Now that Adelard, on the other hand, I am well acquainted with as well, though not as favorably. He can be quite the embellisher when it pleases him. The lad’s not reliable in the slightest, if you ask me. I do think the real thief is out there and may well strike again. Believe me; I’m willing to help nab this fellow before he does anything worse.”

[alaklondewen]

As the wagons bumped along, Marcho silently brooded over the events of the last week. Crispin was still in the hands of Fredigar Headstrong, although his mother was permitted to visit him during breaks to ensure he was being fed. The accusations against the lad did not sit well with Marcho. He just could not envision his nephew as a thief in the night. Even though Marcho and Crispin had never spent a large amount of personal time together, the Fallohide knew his nephew had a good and honest heart. “How could this have happened?” He thought aloud.

“I do not know,” Estella answered quietly and placed her hand tenderly over her husband's. Mrs. Bolger had watched her husband toiling with his thoughts for days. “We must do something about it.”

The Bolgers remained silent for several minutes, each in his or her own reflection. “Marcho,” Estella began again, pausing momentarily to gather her thoughts. “Marcho, you must simply demand that Fredigar release Crispin.” Marcho opened his mouth to answer, but his wife cut him off and continued. “I mean it. You march over there and demand it.” Estella nodded her head matter-of-factly.

“It’s not as easy as that, Estella. You know that.” Marcho kept his eyes on the road, not looking at her as he spoke. “We don't know if he really did not…”

“What?!” Estella interrupted. “Marcho Bolger, you know as well as I do that Crispin would never have stolen that necklace…or anything else for that matter.”

“Yes, Dear, but Fredigar really believes that…”

“Fredigar Headstrong does not know his head from…from the underbelly of a goat. Hm…we can’t believe anything he says. Fredigar Headstrong…" Estella mumbled his name and shook her head negatively. “And Adelard Proudfoot!” Her voice rose in both pitch and volume. “That hobbit is the most spoiled…obnoxious, lying, rude, atrocious…hobbit I ever saw. We certainly cannot take his word as truth.” To make her point, Estella sat back and crossed her arms.

Marcho did not speak for fear of her temper. Estella was the most loving, sweet-spirited hobbit he knew, but when she wasn’t happy…well, let’s just say Marcho did not wish to cross her further. In his heart he knew she was right. Crispin needed to be released, but the scout was unsure how to go about it.

Another concern had continued to rise in his mind. If Crispin did not steal the necklace and other items…then who did? Harold had planted a seed in Marcho’s mind that he had mulled over since. What could they do to nab the real thief? This is surely what it would take to clear Crispin’s name. It didn’t help that nothing had been taken since the lad’s arrest, but if the thief was among them, then he could possibly be tempted and trapped.

During the travelers’ next rest, Marcho met with Kalimac and Harold and proposed they devise a trap for the thief. The trio sat huddled together behind the Whitfoots’ wagon and spoke in hushed voices. “Kal, do you have anything of value that we could make a fuss over to get some attention and then set out after dark?”

[Child of the 7th Age]

Garlin moaned and hung his head, pressing his fingers along the top of his brow. The incessant pounding in his head was making it difficult to concentrate.

The last few days were all a blur. Immediately after his successful venture into the Hobbit's camp, he had disappeared with his prizes, looking for a buyer. He had managed to pawn a number of things to some travellers on the road in return for a large leather pouch filled with foaming ale. He'd spent considerable time enjoying the contents of that pouch. But now it was empty: he was left with a headache, and wondering what he should do.

Garlin still had the topaz necklace that he'd taken from the last wagon he'd visited. His plan was to sell it for a tidy sum of cash. But to do that, he'd need to find a place where there'd be more ready buyers than could be found here in the middle of the woods. He seemed to have just two choices. Either he could head east towards Bree and sell the necklace, or ride west again to make a second visit to the Hobbit camp and 'borrow' a few more belongings.

The sensible thing would have been for Garlin to call it quits and cash in the piece of jewelry. But he was not thinking clearly, and the idea of conning the Hobbits twice in a row was beginning to sound very attractive. He knew from his previous stint of spying that the Hobbit convoy was moving at a snail's pace. He could probably catch up with them by late afternoon. Shoving the necklace to the bottom of his saddlebag, Garlin hastily mounted his horse and began following the deep ruts of the wagon tracks that led westward on the old road.

[Kransha]

Days passed, but hardly drearily. The whole time, Elsa was frantically on edge, Kalimac remained poised to pounce of Adelard, Alora had no idea what was going on, and the Chubbs didn’t seem to comfortable with the situation either. Crispin’s arrest had stirred a great deal of unrest among the Halfling caravan. The hobbits didn’t seem able to give each other straight looks or engage in conversation as they all theorized about what had actually happened, all except Fredigar and Adelard, who seemed to be very sure of what had occurred that night not long ago. Kalimac had almost stirred to the breaking point when he was called upon Marcho to rendezvous with both him and Harold Chubb, to his great surprise. Still stewing and seething over what to do, Kalimac met with them during the next uneasy rest period.

Marcho’s plan took him by surprise, but he definitely wasn’t against it. The scheme seemed to be the only way to convince that buffoon, Headstrong that Crispin was not the guilty party. As Marcho concluded his plan, both Kalimac and Harold gave understanding nods while Marcho turned to Kalimac and posed a simple enough question. “Kal,” he said smoothly, “do you have anything of value that we could make a fuss over to get some attention and then set out after dark?”

“Well, Marcho, I’ve a great many things of value,” Kalimac almost boasted, but quickly simmered down, considering the dire aspect of the situation. He thought for a moment, stammering slightly under his breath and he contemplated both the proposal of his half-brother and an adequate answer to the question queried to him. He scratched his chin pensively and kneaded his weary, sagging brow for a long moment as he summoned up some thoughts about the many valuables he carried in his wagon.

“Ummm…I do believe any thief would want…a purse of gold…” he murmured on, his words jumbled but still understandable, “I’m not sure if you’d rather I came up with a trinket of some kind, but if I were a thief, I would most certainly salivate over a pouch stuffed with gold coins. If it is a trinket you prefer, I have all manner of valuable things, but a purse of gold would do just as well, in my opinion.

[alaklondewen]

“You’re exactly right, Kal. An experienced thief, as this fellow seems to be, would drool over a bag of gold. Snatching something like this would save him the step of having to sell it elsewhere.” Marcho sat back and rubbed the tops of his legs considering their next move. “We need some attention brought to the purse.” The scout rubbed his chin and looked at the two hobbits. “What about your children, Harold? Yes, and Alora.” Marcho smiled as his thoughts began to take shape into something that resembled an actual plan.

“Marcho, I don’t know whether I want my daughter involved in this. After what Crispin has gone through, I don’t think Elsa and I could handle another mishap.” Kalimac burrowed his brows and Marcho sensed his sincerity.

“Kal, I think if you will hear me out, you will see Alora will be kept from any harm.” Kalimac nodded hesitantly, and Marcho continued. “Harold, if Henry and May will participate, this could work.”

“I will do what I can, Marcho, but I will have to hear your plan first and propose it to them.” Harold was thoughtful in his reply, and Marcho understood that Harold would never put his children in unnecessary danger either.

“This is what I propose...” Marcho began; his voice was kept low to ensure no one else could hear him. “The older children will be watching Alora play in and around the wagon. They were caring for her and Crispin before, so that should not seem at all suspicious. Alora can pull the purse from the wagon and show it to Henry and May. Here a bit of performing can take place. Henry and May will speak loudly of the gold…very impressed by it. Or maybe…maybe your father, Harold. Fordogrim certainly has a way about bringing attention to him. Whichever, we need enough focus from others drawn that the thief will be aware of the purse, then Alora will simply drop it on the edge of the wagon…uncovered. Making it an easy target.” Marcho paused to let his words sink in, then continued. “After the bait is in place, we simply wait for him to try to nab it. Let’s put Fordogrim on watch again so the atmosphere will be the same as the first night. We, three, will not sleep tonight, but we will pretend to be. Once the thief comes out, we will wait until he has the purse in his hand…then he’s ours.” Marcho looked at the Whitfoot and Chubb trying to gain insight into their thoughts. “What say you?”

[Witch_Queen]

It had been many days since Sarah had last talked with Fordo. Sarah didn't like the fact that Crispin was the one arrested for stealing her precious necklace. All she wanted was to have it back. Once the real crimminal was caught everything would be better for her and the rest of the travelers. "Grandpa, can I talk to you for a moment?" Sarah had to talk to someone and thought that perhaps Fordo would listen to her and not try to bring up the arguement from the past week. "I know we have our differences, but could I talk to you please?"

Sarah thought she was going to die when Fordo talked to her. "Quit pestering me Sarah, I said I would listen so start talking before I change my mind." She thought she heard him mutter something under his breath but decided to ignore it.

"Oh never mind.." Sarah decided that perhaps her problems shouldn't be told to Fordo. "Grandpa is it ok that I am regreting my decision to even come on this journey. I know that I'm the only one of the Chubbs that wanted to come. Now I just wish we could have stayed at home. Everything would be better. You wouldn't have hurt your leg and well I would never of found the mushrooms. I think you get my point. All I want to do is go back home and see my family happy for a chance." Sarah's voice told her entire feelings. She was sad and depressed and it wasn't because of her missing necklace.

Sarah actually wanted to go home. She wanted to have her family together and happy even if it only lasted for a few moments. Sarah was tired of the everyday cart ride with the chickens. To her the journey seemed like it would last for all eternity. Sarah's daughter hadn't talked to her for almost the entire trip. It's all because of me that my daughter and son won't even talk to me. I have ruined everything. I don't blame Fordo for saying anything bad about me. I'm an evil person. All I want is to be happy again and to have my husband and children be proud of something I did once more.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold listened to Marcho's plot and hesitently nodded his head. He did not particularly relish the idea of drawing the thief into the camp a second time. Once had been quite enough! But he desperately wanted to capture the scoundrel, and he could not think of a better way to do so.

As a young Hobbit, Harold had been involved in planning numerous mischievous pranks on neighboring farmers, but never anything as serious as this. His concern for May and Henry made him even more reluctant to agree. He wondered if the thief was armed. However, Harold reasoned that they would be in no real danger because the cowardly thief dare not strike before everyone was asleep.

Both Marcho and Kalimac seemed to be waiting for him to say something. Best speak up.... Harold told himself.

"Marcho, I think that that your plan is a good idea. Unless my children have bitter objections, I'll encourage them to do as you've suggested. But I will ask one thing. Let's all have our weapons handy in case this fellow is armed. We don't know how dangerous this thieving scoundrel is."

Harold glanced over in Kalimac's direction, who seemed to be nodding in agreement.

With a sigh, the Harfoot continued, "Normally, I'm not one for grand schemes, but there comes a point when a Hobbit has to stand up for what is right. Thieving isn't right, nor is keeping a good lad locked up when there's so little evidence. And this rogue will not get off with my Sarah's necklance. We're going to catch him and punish him for taking from so many hard-working Hobbits. I'm ready, Marcho!"

Kalimac spoke up quickly, "We're all agreed then. Let's bait a trap to catch our prey."

Harold added, "And if my guess is right, my father will be with us too."

The three shook hands on the agreement.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim stumped along the edge of the camp, muttering to himself grumpily. Stout snickered beside him as their breaths misted in the cool night air, and a waning moon glowed down upon them with enough light to cast faint shadows on the grass. The elderly hobbit tried not to look toward the small copse of trees behind them, but it was an agony of determination only that prevented him from doing so. After the children’s little play with the pouch of gold this evening, Marcho had disappeared into the woods and come back only after dark had fallen. At his hastily convened and secretive meeting with the Chubbs and the Whitfoots, he had confirmed that there was indeed a thief lurking in the woods nearby. The scout had not seen the Man – as he had judged him by the signs of his boot prints – but he had seen enough to know that their prey was nearby.

The elderly hobbit turned to his faithful friend. “Well me lad,” he said quietly, so as not to wake the others. “What do you make of all this? Think it has a cake’s chance at a party of working?” The pony merely nuzzled his face. “I guess you’re right old fellow; that Marcho Bolger might be a crack-brain and all, but he does seem to have some sense when it a-comes to catching thieves in the night.” He looked over to the dark shadows of the Whitfoot wagon where he knew Marcho was hiding. The scout was waiting for Fordogrim to feign sleep. Then, if things went according to plan and the thief co-operated, he would spring their trap. Harold had volunteered to stay awake with Marcho, but the scout had pointed out that anyone watching the camp would notice the extra guard, and had instructed the Chubb father to lay low in his cart as usual. As Fordogrim neared the cart, he could tell from the gentle sounds of breathing that his son had fallen asleep. Fordogrim looked down at his son and smiled warmly in the night.

It had been many a year since he had looked at his son this way, and doing so now took him back to the days when Harold had been only a baby, and Fordogrim would steal quietly from his bed at night and tiptoe down the hall to gaze at his lovely boy. He turned his back to the cart and settled against the wheel. As he laid his head back he knew that he would not need to feign sleep. He did not even think to try and stay awake to confront the thief, for the pain in his leg had grown much worse in the past few days and he would be useless in a fight. He was not concerned, for he knew that his son was more than up to the challenge before them.

My Dearest Prim, he began,

Well my love, that much has happened since I last wrote that I hardly know where to begin. I suppose the first thing as I ought to tell you is about our Sarah. What an eye-opening did she give me! First, she showed more grit than I thought she had in her. There were some hard words between us, but hers were shovels as did some use and mine were stones as did nothing but lay there. She pointed out a few things about me and her that I had never really thought about before, and that’s given me a lot to think on. You see, my love, I’ve missed you so awful since you went away that I seems to have turned it all on our poor Sarah for taking over your place in the house – as though it were her fault you had to go in the first place! Now isn’t that just the foolishest thing you’ve ever known? Well, of course not, as you’ve known me a good long time!

But as if that weren’t enough, our Sarah then comes round and says as she now regrets a-coming on this trip. But wouldn’t you know it, even there she’s gone and taught this grumpy old hobbit a thing or two. I’ve been hurt and angry about a-coming on this trip for my own sake, but her thoughts are all for the love of her children and family! She does love our Harold and Mayflower and Henry so much – well, I admit, I’m ashamed of myself that I never did give her the credit she deserves for it. It was a bit tough admitting to her as I'd been wrong, but I up and did it over dinner just this night. It would be difficult to make up for years of hard words with a few gentle ones, but I did my best.

As to my mind, though, I’m beginning to think that I might have had it a bit wrong about this trip. You should see our Harold: like a new hobbit. He’s still the gentle, soft-spoken boy you made him to be, but there’s an iron in there that I’ve not noticed before. Why, would you believe that he’s stood up to that Kalimac Whitfoot twice on this journey? And he’s even given me a good what-for when I deserved it. I think this new place we’re headed to, if it gives Harold the chance to stretch himself a bit more – why, that can only be good I think. I’d never really thought before how small and tightly-fit he was into our life at Bree. This wide open land will give him the room he needs to grow.

Well, my love, I can a-feel myself a-fading fast so I’d best leave it there. I hope that you are well and happy. I miss you awfully.

Your husband,

Grim

And with a contented smile, his head fell back against the cartwheel and he fell asleep.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

He felt a familiar touch on his cheek, and was instantly awake. Before him stood Prim, looking exactly as she had the day they had met all those long years – and distant leagues – ago. He smiled up at her and felt as though his heart would break with a joy past bearing. She returned the smile, and her cheeks were round like fresh apples, and her hair hung about her face like the new tendrils of the sweet peas that she loved. “I’m glad that you and Sarah have made things up at last," she said. "That will make our Harold so happy, my love.”

“Well,” he replied, “it took me long enough time to see it, but I’ve been awful hard on the lass for all the wrong reasons. I’m just glad that I’ve come to my senses in time to put things right with her. To be honest, I’m a-looking forward to spending more time with her.” Prim gave him an odd look: not sad, but thoughtful and sympathetic. He knew that look well. “What is it, my love?” he asked happily. “You’ve got something as you want to tell me, but you’re not sure of how I’m a-going to take it. Out with it, lass!”

Prim shook her head prettily and merely said, “I don’t think you’ll be able to spend as much time with her as you’d like my love. But that’s all right, she knows now how you really feel.”

“I won’t get time?” Fordogrim replied. “But why, Prim? Is something going to happen to her?”

“Why yes, lots and lots.”

“Not anything bad, I hope, Prim. Y’see, I’ve grown that fond of her, and she makes our Harold so happy.”

Prim held out her hand and helped Fordogrim to his feet. He did not notice at first, but the pain was gone from his leg and he stood upright without the use of his cane. “Some bad things will happen to Sarah,” she was saying, “for she has a long way to go before the end of her road. But most of what she finds on the way will be good, and the darkness of that road will only make the light of home seem all the brighter.”

“Why Prim,” he said with wonderment, “How strange you are a-talking. According to that Marcho Bolger we’re not far from our new home now!”

Prim smiled once more and turned Fordogrim about to face the East. “Not that road, you silly hobbit. I’m talking of a much longer Road – the Road that we all must travel before we can finally take our rest in our rightful home.”

“Why Primrose Chubb, what kind of Elvish talk are you talking…?” But Fordogrim stumbled to a halt for as he faced back over the road they’d travelled he saw the night give way to a new dawn, and instead of an empty land there lay before him and to all the horizons around a land full of busy hobbits, tilling the earth and turning their nimble hands to their arts. The land bloomed with life, as crops were raised and holes were dug, houses and barns were built and all the lanes and roads were filled with busy, sensible folk. Fordogrim turned to the West and stared open-eyed as he saw Harold and Sarah as two elderly hobbits, sitting in their easy chairs before their door, hand in hand, surrounded by their children, and the children of their children, and as though a mist had pulled back he saw after them generations upon generations of Chubbs living and loving the land and each other. And the land that they worked was theirs and theirs alone, and they were their own masters, and they held in memory with reverence their ancestors who had given them that chance.

“Prim,” he gasped, “Is what I’m seeing…is this…what’s going to happen?” He turned toward his wife and she smiled at him like springtime. “Of all the wonders,” he said. “Prim? What’s going on? Why do I feel so strange?” And he looked at his hands, and they were no longer lined and crabbed, but smooth and supple. And as he looked up once more, he felt youth and life flood back through his limbs and he laughed aloud for the joy of it all.

But of a sudden he grew sombre and silent, and turning to Prim he said. “I have to go now don’t I, my love?” Prim nodded. “But you’ll be there won’t you my dear?” And she smiled, and he knew that she would, and that they would never have to be parted again. He took one last look at his family. Harold and Sarah were asleep in the cart, wrapped in one another’s arms, and not far from them lay Henry and Mayflower. He wanted to say goodbye to them, but Prim took his hand and led him away. He cast one last look at Stout and his faithful old friend snickered happily in his sleep, stamping the ground. “Will I ever see them again?” he asked, and Primrose replied, “Of course my love, but not for a long, long time.” Fordogrim smiled, “Well, I’m glad of that,” he said.

They passed through the lands of the west and there was a journey as though they were being swept across the Sea on the wings of a great ship. And at last they saw a distant green land, and the mists pulled back and there were green fields and the sound of the most wonderful music came to them with the dawn. “Well, as I live and breathe,” Fordogrim whispered. “I could never have imagined such a place as that.”

“Maybe you’re dreaming,” Primrose suggested.

“No,” he replied slowly, taking her by the hand, “I don’t think I am.”

[Kransha]

He was sitting now, but propped up on his back legs as if ready to uncoil those legs and spring forward with catlike agility to pounce upon his prey. Night had fallen, though there was a crimson rim tinting the dusky horizon over the line of trees that halted further vision into the distance.

The hobbit glanced about with a pang of anxiety in his look as he focused on the small, weighty purse that hung precariously from the wall of the Whitfoot wagon, just waiting, even screaming to be taken by some villainous thief. Kalimac took a nervous glance at Fordogrim, who had drifted into slumber as planned, and then at Marcho and Harold, who leaned beside him, both putting on a much better show of being asleep than he. He couldn’t even pretend, though. There was far too much on his mind. All the memories of his contemplations stung at him as he leaned back, maintaining a threadbare façade.

The memory, resilient and firm, of the last sunrise and sunset stuck firmly in him.

He’d given more thought to the matter of the Chubbs after his meeting with Marcho and Harold. He had work to do certainly, but thinking to do as well, and soon if his brain could manage it. He weighed the plight of the Chubbs, a dilemma present in his mind for almost a whole week now, shoved aside just slightly by his concern for Crispin, but still very obviously present at his mind's front.

‘They’re really not so bad’ he had thought as he strolled through the camp, murmuring half out loud, ‘…Not bad at all…Harold is a hobbit better than I, no matter what I say of it. I’m a rich fool, and I would care greatly if my funds were lost. But he doesn’t care that it was something valuable he lost, I’ll wager. He cares about the necklace because it was a gift, a heartfelt gift, to his wife. By all the shadows in the Old Forest, I’m no more than a selfish oaf, a penny-pinching miser. That’s it; from now on it’s going to be different! And when this whole blasted thing is over, I’ll give Harold and his wonderful family what I should’ve given them years ago, indeed I shall! But, first and foremost, I’ll make sure this thief is caught and get Crispin out of trouble, then to other business. Let’s see then; that’s quite a lot of reparations to make. At least Harold and his young ones are less antagonized by me now. That only leaves…Fordogrim. Well, he’ll be gotten to and turn. I have my own family to worry about. Oh my, there’s so much to do and so little time to do it in. Best get cracking, I suppose. Workto be done, work to be done...’

Slowly but surely, Kalimac’s pace increased until he broke into an equestrienne gallop, plowing past wagons and letting his limbs dangle behind like numb wings which glanced off the shoulders and arms of so many. He soon fixed his keen, focused eyes upon the sight of his young daughter, who already had a melancholy air about her as she sat on the wagon side, her feet swinging limply beneath her as she stared glumly at the ground, probably displeased by the lack of a jovial older sibling to play with. Alora’s apparent mood just fueled Kalimac’s resolve. He ran over to her, recovering the use of his arms in full, and clasped her firmly by the shoulders, wincing inwardly as he realized how much he’d shocked her. He looked meaningfully into her eyes as he spoke, examining her gaze as it met easily with his.

“Alora, dear, I have something that I really need you to do for me.” She looked intrigued already, “It’s actually a game, one you must play with Henry and May Chubb for me, and it’s very important. You see, Alora, you have to do some acting and a little job. Before the sun goes down tonight, you must go off and play in our wagon.” She still looked enthusiastic about it, nodding vigorously after each sentence, much to Kal’s delight, “There will be a bag in there, which you have to ‘find’ in there, yes?” a prompt and energetically youthful nod affirmed her understanding, “Good. Then, you must take it out, still playing the game, and show it to May and Henry. Now, you must pretend that you did not know where the bag was, or what is in it. This may confuse you, but it is very important if we wish to get Crispin out of mean mister Headstrong’s wagon. You're a crucial part of the plan, Alora, and I know you can handle that responsibility, am I right?" she nodded further, "So, you understand?”

Again, a gleeful nod from his daughter came. For the first time in two weeks, Kalimac smiled genuinely at anyone. Only luck had it that that someone was his saddened child. She seemed strangely spirited by the idea, which she gave her father credit for. Still grinning soothingly, he let go of her shoulders and backed off carefully, responding to her nod with one of his own as he turned and sprinted madly off, like a Halfling possessed into the mass of wagons in the caravan.

Now the trap was set, the job had been done, all was ready. But, one thing had to be done before the arrival of that thief. The acting of May, Henry, and Alora had been done, superbly in Kal’s opinion, but that could not be brooded on. Something had to be accomplished before the knave’s arrival. Shaking Harold’s shoulder reluctantly, Kal turned to the Harfoot as he was jogged from his false slumber and looked quizzically at Kalimac. “Harold, this has been, if you’ll hear me out, my hardest few weeks ever. The strain of this journey has done a lot to both of us, but the greatest hardship to come will not be, for me, the capturing and punishing of our thief, but what I am about to do and say.”

Harold still looked confused as Kalimac whispered, his soft voice still overshadowing the clicking noises that hiccupped every so often from the roadside. The words didn’t come easily as Kalimac forced them doggedly up his throat, stammering madly as he tried to hold eye contact with the Chubb in his employment. His mouth sagged, bouncing up and down and projecting no sound until nervous, stuttering, shuddering, shivering Kal Whitfoot began to speak, choking back half the syllables of his oration before they were emitted.

“H-Harold…I’m…I’m very sorry…about attacking your father and blaming your children for the incident in the woods, really. I had no idea…then, at least, that there was so much more I should be thinking of. I didn’t realize how selfish and stupid I was acting, and what you said a week ago really made me think. I’ve treated you well, but not well enough over these years, for which I again apologize, most profusely, Harold. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been dying to tell you this, since I never realized I had to. Now I’ve told you, and I hope you can accept my apologies…along with a decade’s back-pay for all the funds I deducted from your pay, to be paid now in full, with interest.”

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold could hardly believe what Kalimac was telling him. First, an apology for the misunderstanding they'd had and, now, a generous offer to reimburse the Chubbs for all the rents and fees they'd paid out over ten years..... What a difference that money would make for his family in getting a new start!

He stared the landowner squarely in the eye and tugged at the brim of his cap, "Mister Kalimac, you're too hard on yourself. You've always been a fair man asking no more than your due. Not like some others I've Known. But I certainly won't say no to your proposal."

"Truthfully, I've been wondering and worrying how we'd come up with the things for our new home. I am good with my hands, but there are times when it would be nice to hire someone with skills to make a new bedstead or a sturdy table. This will make it easier for us!"

"Now, if you'll excuse me for just a moment. Before we nab that thief, I need to make sure my father is safe. He was standing guard on the hill and needs to lie low till the prowler leaves. I'll be back in just a minute." With that, Harold wandered off.

Harold's real reason for going to find his father was actually more complicated than that. He wanted the old gaffer to stay safe and sound, but that wasn't all. Harold wanted to share his good news with his Dad. It was his father who had drummed into his head that work shouldn't be slipshod, and that you must always try your hardest. Harold wanted to be the first to tell his Dad that these wise words had finally paid off, not only in personal satisfaction for a job well done, but now also in a little something extra.

Harold sprinted up the hill, just like when he was a child and went looking for his father who was out in the fields working hard. But this time Harold would be the one bringing the good news!

Walking towards a small wooded copse, he saw Fordo resting on the ground. Harold smiled. Once more, his father had fallen asleep on watch. How tired he must have been.

Harold sighed. He's worked plenty hard all those long years and deserves some rest. This money will help do that. But as Harold knelt down in the soft grass, he quickly saw something was odd. His father lay so still, quieter than Harold had ever seen him, and his face looked amazingly peaceful. The young Harfoot reached out his hand to stroke the sparse gray curls. Fordo did not stir or respond in any way.

For an instant Harold wondered why his father didn't wake up. Then, he gripped his shoulder and softly shook him. Still puzzled, he noticed his father wasn't breathing. At that moment, Harold could hear every sound about him: the crickets, the frogs, and the hoot of a distant owl. Most of all, he heard his own heart thumping.

He's gone. He's gone away, and I can't follow. A single tear slipped down Harold's cheek as he sat mesmerized on the ground holding his father's hand. But this isn't fair! This can't happen now. Dad just made up with Sarah, and we have money for an easier life. Everything was going to get better.

And how can I leave my father and bury him in the middle of nowhere? I took him from the place he loved, and couldn't even get him safely to his new home. Harold choked back his sobs, afraid that the prowler would come by and discover the two of them together. I just won't go on. I'll forget the necklace and Michel Delving. Let other people deal with this scoundrel, and risk their own necks. I've had enough. I'll go back to Bree with my Dad's body. A Hobbit can only take so much!

Then, out of nowhere a voice whispered inside Harold's head. Is that what I taught you? To pull out from your friends and neighbors when life gets too hard? You'd best go back right now and do your duty with Marcho and the others.

But I can't leave you here in the dirt!

Harold thought he heard a familiar chuckle. What kind of thinking is that? What better place for a Hobbit to be than warming a little piece of earth! Bree, or Michel Delving....or out here on this wooded trail, it's all the same. The place isn't what matters, Harold....it's the people in that place. It's our family: Prim and me, you and Sarah, Henry and May... Prim and I may be off down the road, but we're still part of that family. So go off, and do the Chubbs proud!

Blinking back tears, Harold struggled to his feet. He'd leave his father here till he'd finished the job, and then they'd find a spot under the trees to bury him. He slipped down the hill towards Kalimac and Marcho.

"Your dad alright?" Kalimac asked briefly before they set off on their errand.

"I reckon he is. I just reckon he is..... But we can talk more on that later."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Garlin was at least a bit more sober than the last time he'd stumbled into the camp. He'd reached the convey by late afternoon, and had hidden under the cover of the surrounding trees, scanning the camp with weary eyes to locate a prize worthy of his attention. He'd caught a glimpse of one or two interesting things in the section of the camp that he hadn't investigated before: the horses and wagons near the front of the procession. He made a note of several rich items in his head, promising to come back later.

But there was one group of children whose words and play caught his attention. They were poking their fingers into the side of a hefty bag that gave off an enticing jingle, presumably because it held their father's store of cash. One-by-one, the children stuck their fists into the pouch and came away waving their hands gleefully in the air, their fingers curled tightly about one or more precious coins.

Garlin's jaw dropped in amazement. The treasures they were holding were not coppers, or even silver coins, but gleaming pieces of gold. It was all Garlin could do to stop himself from instantly leaping out of the bushes and seizing the bag.

Garlin made his way back into camp under cover of nightfall, retracing his path to the same spot where the children had been playing earlier. The fools had left the bag in clear view on the front seat of the wagon. He reached down and grabbed the bulging bag, hoisting it up into his arms and then tucking it under his ragged jacket......

[alaklondewen]

Marcho heard a faint rustle nearby, and he barely opened his eyes to watch a shadowy figure peaking around the front of the Whitfoot wagon. We have him! The scout’s breathing became rapid and his heart began to pound in anticipation. The figure leaned into the wagon and lifted the great purse. At this moment, Marcho had a troubling realization…That’s no hobbit…that’s a Man!

He watched as the burglar tucked the purse under his shirt, and then with as loud a shout as would wake the dead, the scout leaped from his bed. With cries of similar magnitude, Harold and Kalimac joined Marcho, and before the Man knew what had happened he was surrounded by three armed, stout, Halfling men.

“Villainous thief!” Kalimac shouted and pressed the point of his crude knife against the man’s belly threatening him to try to run.

“Give us the purse and surrender and we will not hurt you,” Marcho spoke firmly, but calmly. His sword was also drawn and raised.

The thief look bewildered and as he turned quickly to run, Harold jumped upon his back and knocked the fellow to the ground. While still perched upon his back, the Chubb searched the man’s clothing. It was soon that he found that for which he searched. Harold leaned back and then slid off the man, holding a delicate necklace aloft.

As soon as Harold was off the thief, Marcho and Kalimac pinned him and waited while Sarah brought a coil of good, sturdy rope. Within minutes the hobbits had the thief tied and sitting in the back of the Whitfoot wagon.

[alaklondewen]

The morning air whipped around and through the hobbits as they congregated in the center of the camp. They were all packed and ready to leave for another day of traveling, but they had some unfinished business that needed attending before they could get back to the road. Marcho stood before them on the back of one family’s cart. In front of him stood Garlin Whoolthistle, the apprehended thief, who had found himself perched atop a crate surrounded by the traveling hobbit population. The Man was apparently uncomfortable with the attention as he fidgeted and a wild look was in his eye. Yet, he dared not try to run for Harold Chubb and Kalimac Whitfoot stood at his feet, and he remembered all too clearly the brunt of Harold’s weight that knocked him flat.

Marcho spoke loudly to the hobbits and told them what had happened the night before, although most already knew because of the commotion that was made during Garlin’s capture. The scout publicly cleared Crispin Whitfoot’s name, causing many (especially his own family) to clap and shout enthusiastically. Fredigar stood to one side looking almost as uncomfortable as ol’ Garlin.

Marcho presented the evidence against Garlin to the crowd and then announced his punishment. “Mr. Whoolthistle must know what it is like to loose those things which he has worked for. Since he has sold or traded all of the items he stole from the hard working Harfoot folks, each of his victims will come forward and take something from his person as compensation for their loss.” Now Garlin only came to the camp with an empty pouch, saddle bag, and the clothes on his back, so as each of the Harfoot families stepped forward there was naught to take but his old clothes. Very soon Garlin stood before the hobbits fidgeting even more as he tried to cover his bare flesh, and although Marcho stopped the folk from taking his drawers, the man appeared to be extremely embarrassed and humiliated by the actions taken against him.

~*~*~*~*~

Regin's Post

Regin had been glad to see the necklace returned and the thief captured, but he didn't have the heart to stay longer than that. Before Marcho dealt out a just punishment to the thief, Harold went to tell Sarah and the children what had happened to their Grandpa. Together, the family walked slowly up the hill to say their final goodbyes.

Arriving at the grove, they gathered round the spot where Grandpa lay. After burying her head on her mother's shoulder, May looked up with a sad smile on her face, "It's the first time I've ever seen Grandpa not have a word to say to any of us. I shall miss him. He was as honest as they come. He said what he meant. There was no fooling around or hiding the truth." Everyone nodded. Then they sat quietly, talking and comforting each other.

News of Fordo's death spread quickly through the camp. Families made their way to the grove to pay their respects to Fordo and the Chubbs, first stopping to drop off gifts of food at the family's wagon.

Harold picked out the spot where his father would lie so that the rocks could be gathered there. It was just on the other side of the hill, and under the shade of a friendly beech. The site looked out over a rolling field. Just the sort of place for good farming. Harold reflected. My father would have liked it. Then he and Henry, along with the sturdiest Hobbits, scoured the nearby countryside to find the stones and boulders they would need to construct the barrow.

Fordo's body was laid gently in the tomb and Marcho got up to speak. He talked solemnly about Fordo: how he hadn't wanted to leave Bree, but when his family made the decision to move he came with them and did the best be could. How he'd worked hard for his family so many years, and how terribly he missed his good, sweet Prim. And now husband and wife were together again.

Then Harold got up to talk, "Marcho tells me all the land you can see around us is part of the King's grant. Today there aren't very many of us. But maybe someday, there'll be more. There may even be families living and farming on this very spot where we stand. I don't want to lose my father. Sarah and I, and the children all grieve his loss. But I think my father would agree. It's better that the first death in this new land should be an older Hobbit gently passing on rather than having a young lad bludgeoned to death in battle or skirmishing with a no-good thief."

"May our lives in the Shire be as peaceful as the end Grandpa had, and may we never forget the sacrifices that he made to help get us here. Sleep Father. Stay close to my mother, dear Prim, wherever she is. You and she are still part of our family, only separated for a while. And whether we're here or in Michel Delving, that will never change."

With that , the Hobbits made their way down the hillside to their bedrolls. Only Harold remained behind for a few moments, sitting peacefully beside the barrow.....

~*~*~*~

Once the funeral was finished and Garlin was left with nothing but his underpants, Marcho signaled for all to proceed to the wagons, and soon the convoy was bumping along once more down the road.

[alaklondewen]

The week after Fordogrim Chubb’s funeral was a long, dreary one. The settlers were already in a thoughtful mood as they dealt with the loss of one of their own and readied themselves for their arrival in the White Downs. The weather seemed to grieve with them, raining for four days off and on. The journey was a heavy weight that lay across their shoulders, and they wished to be through it.

On the seventh day the land began to slowly rise and fall once more, and spirits rose slightly as these small hills marked their entry into the White Downs. If only the weather was more agreeable, they could have celebrated. A grey rain pelted down once more and the ponies and wagons were having a difficult time climbing the hills. More than once a wagon or cart slipped and several hobbits would have to help push it back on the road or up one of the increasingly steeper hills.

The convoy rode late into the night before camping, and then was back on the road just after sunrise. No one complained because they knew that this was the day…the day they would see their home.

With each rising hill, Marcho came closer to his dream, and the Fallohide was more than a little anxious. The moment of his arriving in this place had played over in his mind for many years, and he struggled now to grasp its reality. All of the hard work and time spent away from Estella was paying off before his eyes.

As the day wore onto the afternoon, the hills became smaller and soon Marcho could see their end. They would stop at the slopes’ feet and from there they would cultivate and populate the land. The rain stopped as they slowly ascended the last hill as though nature understood the importance of the moment. When the Bolgers reached its peak they stopped their wagon and let their fellow travelers and neighbors crowd around them. Then as though it was a sign from above, the dark clouds parted and a single shaft of light slid down and lit all the land at their feet.

Marcho was overwhelmed by its beauty and a single tear slipped down his cheek.

[Arestevana]

As the wagon pulled to a stop at the top of the hill, Alora and Crispin clambered up to the front of the wagon with their parents for a better view. Elsa gazed, enchanted, at the land stretching away before them. The family observed their new homeland in silence. Crispin, sitting on his father’s lap, was chewing on a piece of hay again. Elsa noticed, but she was unwilling to shatter the moment, so she said nothing. She was feeling a good deal more sympathetic toward Crispin anyway, ever since his arrest.

As the last few wagons and carts pulled up to the crest of the hill, the caravan shared an unarranged moment of silence. Then the hobbits broke out into hearty cheering. Shouts echoed between the hills, and it seemed almost as if the new land was shouting back, welcoming them. Several children jumped from the neighboring wagons and threw themselves down the other side of the hill, laughing as they rolled through grass still sodden from the rain. “Well, go on!” Elsa said to her children. Alora and Crispin did not need to be told twice. They clambered over the front of the wagon and were gone.

Smiling, Elsa gazed again at the land, its beauty overwhelming her. This land-- our land! It’s what we’ve been working for. We’re finally here! This is the land where we can live away from the big folk. This is our new home! She jumped down from the wagon. The ground looked strangely blurred, and she had a suspicion that she might be crying. Reaching down, she gently pushed aside a tuft of emerald grass and scooped up a handful of dark earth. Standing up she let the rich soil run through her fingers. A homeland; a land to call our own.

[ArwenBaggins]

Crispin jumped from the wagon happily and rolled down the soggy hill. The almost-teenage hobbit left him for a moment as he tumbled through the lush green grass sprinkled with little blooming clovers like a young boy.

He watched Alora slip to the bottom of the hill and stand, followed by the lovely Daisy Boffin. The girl smiled as Crispin stood next to them and wiped his wet bottom, Alora laughing and pointing at his exceptionally dirty trousers. 'She should look at her own skirt!' He thought to himself.

Crispin had grown close to the Boffin girl over the period of the journey. She had visited him everyday while he was held in that baffoon's wagon; yes, she was shy and a bit... odd , but that wasn't anything Crispin couldn't get used to over time. He quite enjoyed her pleasant company.

Presently, he bent down and grabbed a handful of clover. The hay he continously chomped on dropped to the ground, but he was too preoccupied to pick it up. "Alora! Crispin! Come back to the wagon for a minute!" Elsa Whitfoot called to her children from the top of the hill. Crispin told Alora that he'd catch up in a minute.

"Daisy?" He poked the girl's shoulder gently and she turned away from the other hobbit lass she was talking too. She then turned and blushed, kicking her bare feet around in the tall grass.

He too blushed, his tanned cheeks turning a bright shade of scarlet. "I... I wanna give these to ya... they're purty, like... you," he handed her the mass of uneven clovers. He then did something totally impromptu, without any consent until that exact moment. He kissed her left cheek, and then her right, hugging her tight.

While he was very embarrassed and a pink wave flew down to the tips of his toes, Crispin was extremely happy. Daisy smiled and giggled, taking hold of his hand and dancing around in circles. They started walking back up the hill together, toward their wagons. 'It may take a little getting used to,' he thought, a content smile on his face. 'but I'm finally home.'

[Kransha]

Beautiful…it was simply, utterly beautiful. Land as far as the eye could see, stretching and rolling and sloping and dipping all around. The light of the sun peeked gracefully and majestically through the clouds, shining down in slender beams on the new land of the Halflings of Bree. The grass seemed to bend in submission beneath the revolving quartet of wheels of the Whitfoot wagon, allowing it to pass smoothly and easily into the depths of the family’s land. The sky was calm and ever tranquil, the clouds billowed like a solemn but welcoming smoke that swirled around the single beam of unbridled light that shone down, wreathing it like wispy laurels surrounding a shimmering golden crown, radiant with light.

Though the week had been melancholy, leaving Kalimac to commit somber thought to the loss of Fordogrim Chubb, life would go on, the hobbits would prosper, and all would be well. Kalimac Whitfoot had long sat, with Crispin and Alora hovering above his knees, about the hardships of that journey, the sadness and the chaos. It was all for the cause, the mission that was now completed as the White Downs played out on every side of the wealthy Bree hobbit. Now, Kalimac looked on, a smile plastered eternally on his face as a single tear rolled down his cheek, something he was most unaccustomed to feeling as the crystalline droplet fell from his chin and calmly hit the ground, watering the thick, sturdy layer of soil beneath waves of bending grass. Soon enough, both Alora and Crispin were off in a flash at their mother’s serene behest, off to frolic and play on what the tall grass if the hilly slopes. Kalimac, laughing to himself, hopped nimbly from the wagon, landing like a bird alighting beside his wife as she stooped to take something from the earth she stood upon. He walked beside her and calmly laid his arm upon her shoulders, sighing with relief.

He could see it all again, playing out in front of him like a dream...

His little home, not necessarily little, but still cozy in its place, nestled between grassy mounds of rich, ready earth. A flattened roof, covered with ripe ivy, a picket fence rimming the yard in a semicircle, painted gleaming white that seemed to glow in the sun's light streams, a winding path of cobblestones that wormed its way from the swinging fence gate to the small, rounded door of the home, and, of course, a garden of plants and flowers, brimming bushes of herbs, masses of thick, evergreen foliage, multicolored sparks of flowery petals, each dazzling in their unique gentility as the litter the garden and yard, vines working their way calmly over the fence and outside. He saw, through eyes blurred in dreams, thin, curling plumes of smoke like those from a pipe swirling into the sky from the house's puffing chimney. Perfect...

And there, in the yard, where hobbit children, many. He saw a head of frazzled auburn, of dangling golden gurls, of unkempt black fuzz, and neat brown trim. He saw faces lit with the flowing energies of youth, feet dancing across the cobblestones with young agility. He saw too older folk, Halflings too, and his face sagged inevitably into a wide smile as he recognized his son Crispin and his daughter Alora, now adults each, scurrying through the tall grass and spread of flowers after their own children, his grandchildren. They played new games, sung new songs, told new tales, and ran about madly, gleefully yelling to each other...all but Crispin and Alora, who looked at each other knowingly. Just as he was thinking of them, they were thinking of him, and his heart sang as he came to the realization that not only would he prosper, but his family would prosper, and all hobbit's would prosper, because of this journey, this day, to this land.

There he was too, sitting in that lounge chair he'd always pictured himself in, his hair tainted a calming white with grey strands dappling it. He smoked his pipe in silence, letting the tufts of pipe cloud waft around him and evaporate into the air of his home. Beside him, in another chair, sat Elsa, her face as wizened as his in age, but rife with experience and widom. Around them, the sturdy, cushioned chairs all gathered in a circle in the light that peeked in through a window's glass pane, where an older Marcho, the oldest of them all, leaning forward and contemplating, and both Harold and Sarah Chubb, holding hands in the same silence. For one brief moment, all five eyes met at the focal point between them and they remembered...they remembered what they'd done...what Kalimac and his kind were doing right now...finding this new home.

Slowly, still smiling, Kalimac took Elsa’s hand in his own as their four eyes looked out over the home soon to be theirs. His fingers closed gently around hers, feeling the remains of the soil she held and smiling further as he glanced at her happily before turning back to the White Downs, “Elsa, I think we’re going to like it here.” He said, his voice at last calm, devoid of the journey’s gnawing stress, and filled with a jovial relief at the journey's end and sparkling wonderment, “I really do.”

[Witch_Queen]

Sarah was relieved that she had finally reached her new home. Though she was heart broken since Fordo had died on the journey. She didn't see any reason to make a mushroom pie anymore. It was because of him she had made them.

She didn't know what else to do now with him gone. Her life had an empty place in it. She still had her family. She was finally happy for a chance in her life. Even if her father-in-law had died only days ago. Sarah still shed a tear for the loss.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold sat contently gazing out from the front step of his burrow onto his family’s fields as he rocked back and forth in the old oak chair. A slight breeze tickled his chin and swept through the rolling hills of green. The afternoon was sunny and warm and the time was drawing near to harvest. He sat in front of a snug burrow that had a round yellow door and a few smaller circular windows. Daises, roses, and sunflowers lifted their bright faces and sprang up all around the garden surrounding the burrow.

Three years ago he had arrived in the Far Downs, part of a parcel of land that had since been renamed the Shire. At first, Harold had been completely opposed to leaving Bree, the land he had known all his life. On the way to their new home, the Hobbits had encountered wolves, thieves, and many other dangers, but were able to keep together because of their determination as well as the guidance of their leader Marcho. Harold was certainly glad that he never had to use a scythe for anything other than cutting grain again.

When they first arrived in the new land, Harold and his family had very conflicted feelings. On the one hand, they did not have to journey anymore and could begin their new life. On the other, they still did not have any land of their own, and held a lingering sadness from the death of old Fordo. Perhaps the journey had been too much for him. Maybe, Harold reflected, if I had stayed in Bree, he would still be with us. But my family did not decide to leave Bree: the Whitfoots decided for us.

The hardships of the journey had forced the three groups of Hobbits to band together in order to survive. Harold had begun to feel more responsibility to the community as a whole, rather than just his own family or the other Harfoots. Apparently, the Fallohides had felt the same way; Kalimac and Marcho had discussed the matter of land with the others and they had agreed to grant small farmsteads to the Harfoot families.

Although he still missed his father dearly, Harold no longer felt that the journey from Bree had been a waste. If only his father could see the Chubbs now, thought Harold. He would have been so proud. After working for the Whitfoots their whole lives, the Chubbs had finally gotten a farm, “a land to call their own.”

[piosenniel]

~*~ To Elvenhome ~*~