Malva came up to her husband, Marcho, carrying yet another platter thrust upon her by yet another goodwife serving at the food table. She set down the plate and drew her arm around Marcho, who sat on a bench watching the spectacle below.
The Messengers were the heroes of the hour. The lasses all wanting a last dance with them, the old Gaffers coming forward to offer them good advise based on their own (real or imagined) travels throughout Middle Earth, the goodwives offering them the choicest offerings of their cooking skills, and the children gathering around to inspect their weapons, ponies and supplies, asking endless questions about the "dangers" they might meet on the road.
Malva laid her head on Marcho shoulder. "You want to go with them, don't you."
"Oh, aye. I'd give anything to be out there with them. It will be a grand adventure for them all. But I've had my time for travel. I've got responsibilites now, don't I?", giving Malva a squeeze.
"Some of them are so young. Dinodas is barely a tween!"
"Young's the time for such rambling. And they've all got good heads on their shoulders, Malva. I picked the best that I could."
"I suppose you'll tell me they'll all be fine."
"No, I can't say that. It's a brutish world out there. And a wonderful world too. The things they see they'll remember the rest of their lives. But we have a better one here. We have to let our people know about it, Malva. And no one's gonna tell them, save other Hobbits."
[ August 27, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]
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