[piosenniel]

The Little Folk step forward . . .

The crackle of the burning limb grew loud in the ensuing silence. Some of the Hobbits who had heard the Mayor speak shuffled nervously, casting their eyes at their fellows, waiting for someone to make the move.

A deep voice boomed out to the left of the Mayor. A Hobbit standing very near Harald as he spoke to Berilac had heard the question posed to the Hobbit Ranger. ‘Well, now, I can’t speak for all us Hobbits, Yer Honor, but I can say I’d like to offer my services.’

Elfrid, the iron worker whose hands had forged the metal bracings for the new North Gate stepped forward. He was a massive man, thickset, with the big muscles of one who wields the hammer and tongs and bends metal to his will. ‘My lads and I will lend our labors to those of the other good folk.'

‘Aye,’ chimed another doughty Hobbit, taking his place beside Elfrid. ‘And you’ll see my sons and I at his side.’ It was Sammael the lumberman, whose hands had planed the thick oak for the new northern gate. His three hearty sons followed close behind him, axes in hand. ‘We’ll not want to see our handiwork destroyed by flames,’ said Sammael, leaning on his own great ax. ‘We’ll push the brush back from along the dike along the northern edge, and others can follow along with shovels leaving only a wide path of dirt – few flames will leap the fire break unless they wind pushes sparks across to the hedge. And with you Men keeping the Hedge wetted down, that shouldn’t prove a problem.

‘We’ll come,’ cried Berilac’s brothers-in-law, Griffo and Tomlin, shovels in hand, motioning folk to come gather round them. When they had heard the alarm, they had grabbed shovels and buckets from the nearby shed in the Inn, just as they would have done should fire threaten their holding or their neighbors’ in Staddle.

‘Yes! And we’ll join the bucket brigade cried their wives, Britnie and Goldie. Soon, most of the Little Folk of Bree proper and the outlying districts had stepped forth to volunteer. The bucket brigade had swelled from four lines to seven with the addition of the Hobbits, with the Little Folk manning the first parts of the lines, letting the taller folk swing their buckets high to wet the top of the Hedge. Several new lines were formed, too, to wet down the nearby roofs.

Rosco Woodfarer, Berilac's brother, stepped forward, his own shovel in hand, last of all. The branch still burnt, though the flames were dieing down a bit. At its heart were beginning to glow the wavering orange embers that would prove dangerous were the wind to pick them up and blow them to the thatched and wooden shingled roofs of Bree. Rosco motioned for one of the lasses to dump a bucket of water on the branch, then he covered it with a few shovelfuls of dirt to quench its heat.

‘We’re with you, Mayor. It’s our home, too,’ he said, methodically piling the dirt on the branch. ‘And just so you know, we’ll be using the same tools as you bigger folk . . . not our feet . . .’

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 11:52 PM January 11, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]