[Child of the 7th Age]

Ancalimon greeted the hobbits who were digging the burial site, and asked them to watch over his goods for a bit. He also got directions to Maura's house, and walked over by the muddy river bank to knock at the round brown door where the Tuk family lived.

For a moment, Ancalimon though that no one was at home. For although he banged his staff loudly, there was no response. Then, a voice filled with pain and weariness came back to him. "Not right now. Come back later. I'm busy with other things."

Ancalimon shook his head and sighed, for this was surely Maura. But it sounded nothing like the young lad and man he had known and cherished for many years. The peddler lifted his staff and said with a bit of gruffness, "You have no time then for a very old friend who has come from very far away."

Maura looked in disbelief at the door of the house, and quickly came over to undo the latch. He stared at the young man in the grey robes who stood on the doorstep. Maura was unable to speak or move.

Ancalimon turned to him with a sly smile, "And this is how a hobbit greets a guest? I thought better of you, Maura."

"Ancalimon? Is it really you? I have wished and hoped and dreamed that you would somehow find your way here, but I dared not believe it. And, today, of all days...." His voice trailed off into pain.

"I have seen." said the man in grey. "Come let's sit and talk."

As he wrapped the hobbit in his arms, there was a small and muffled response, "Oh, Ancalimon, I have tried to do what you said, but it's so hard. And it seems to be getting harder every day." And the one hobbit in the community who had never cried, the one hobbit who had responded to everyone's grief with unfailing gentleness and compassion, looked up into the face of his friend and began weeping softly.