They hadn't even made it through the first day's trek and already the group had devolved into silliness. Still, he thought to himself, the group had broken the ice so to speak and were becoming more at ease with each other's company. He was feeling pleased with his pairings and chuckling over his clever use of the phrase 'broken the ice', when the cold, wet missile hit him.
He was surprised, more than angry, though any of his family would tell you that his expressions were often hard to read. Bullroarer wiped the slush from his face and turned his keen eyes on the group, seeking the culprit. All throwing had stopped, as the Hobbits looked at him wondering how he might react. All had an air of innocence about them as they stood there politely, hands behind their backs. And every single one of them look guilty to his eyes.
His gaze caught Lotho, standing off to the side, tsk-tsk'ing, at this display of foolishness. A wicked smile creased Bullroarer's lips as he picked up a great handful of snow, and forming it into a compact ball, lobbed it at Lotho, catching the surprised Hobbit squarely in the chest.
The group gasped to see Bullroarer throw the snowball, then cheered and joined once again in the melee. It was chaos on the Great East road for a short while as the air grew thick with Hobbit propelled snow. At last, wet and tired from their fun, they called a truce, laughing and brushing each other off.
Bullroarer marshalled them into line once again and they set off toward the Floating Log. It was only a short distance, round a bend in the road. They were glad to get to it. The sun had started to set and the air, already brisk, was growing colder, with the promise of more snow.
The fire in the common room was inviting and Bullroarer ordered pots of hot tea and honey all around. Once he had settled with the Innkeeper for rooms and food, he went out to the stable to see that the horses and ponies were well looked after by the stable boy.
Satisfied, he crossed the yard back to the Inn. The night sky was crisp and clear for the moment, thought they sky to the east promised hurrying clouds filled with snow, The stars shown out for a brief time like bright stones on black velvet. His gaze sought out The Wain and then Wilwarin in the north. Low along the western border stood Menelvagor, the Swordsman of the Sky, the one who protects Arda from the return of Melkor, or so he had learned from the Elves.
'Watch over us.' he murmured as his eyes took in the mighty form. His breath left a steamy trail in the cold night air as he strode back quickly to the warmth and light of the Inn.
Unheard by him, as he passed through the door and shut it tightly, was the distant, chilling chorus of howls.
[ December 01, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
[ December 03, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.
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