[piosenniel]

Bullroarer was up and out already when Carl went looking for him. He found the Bull (as he liked to think of him, but would never say out loud) looking under the seat of the Took wagon. A few muttered imprecations filled the air, mixed with the sounds of metal and wooden boxes being slid this way and that. ‘By the One! I know I put those here somewhere. Where can they be!’

Carl stepped up to the front of the wagon, and watched as the Bull, his head jammed under the seat, ran his fingers round all the nooks and crannies looking for something. Carl shuffled a bit in the snow, and cleared his throat, hoping to catch the other Hobbit’s attention. Finally, in desperation, he reached across and tapped the Bull on the shoulder. A decidedly ill-timed act, or so it proved.

It startled Bullroarer, and he jerked his head up quickly, bringing it into extreme contact with the underside of the wagon seat. He pulled out from under the seat muttering loudly and furiously, and raised his left arm to rub the back of his re-injured skull. A sharp jolt ran like a lightning bolt from his injured shoulder straight through to his back, and he doubled over, gasping with pain.

Carl stood there, his mouth open, gasping himself. He was in two minds at the moment, not knowing if he should stay and help the Bull, and possibly incur his wrath for causing all this, or just run back to the house while tears of pain clouded the other man’s vision. He opted for the first course, and stepped in bravely. ‘Bullroarer, let me help you!’ He assisted the Bull to a seat on a stacked up crate, and pressed a snow ball to the back of his throbbing head. ‘What else can I do?’ he asked, watching the other Hobbit still bent over in pain.

‘Just let me catch my breath . . . Carl, isn’t it?! And tighten up the buckle on that splint belt – there between my shoulder blades.’ Carl moved aside the Bull’s cloak and cinched the broad leather belt a little tighter, bringing the fractured collar bone into better alignment. A few minutes later, and the Bull’s ragged breathing had calmed itself, and color had returned to his pale face.

Bullroarer turned his head to Carl, taking the packed snow from him in his right hand, and asked him what it was that he had come out to tell him. The pains in both his head and shoulder were abating, and he took a deep breath, waiting for Carl to go on.

‘Well, sir, Branda and I wanted to talk with you about having a birthday party for Daisy. I found out it’s tomorrow, and we thought a little bit of celebration would lighten all our spirits. Branda wanted me to run it by you, first.’

‘Consider it run, Carl. It’s a great idea! Will you organize for us? And better yet – let’s make it a surprise party.’ He stood thinking for a moment. ‘I’ll tell you what – I’ll take Daisy out with me early tomorrow. She can bring her sling and we’ll do a little hunting. You and the others can get everything organized – bake a cake. We do have flour and all don’t we? And perhaps a few mathoms can be found to give her at the party.’

‘I do happen to know that Daisy is quite fond of flowers. Do you think you could get, oh say, Hal and Gaddy to hunt up some snowbells and maybe a little holly for a bouquet. We can surprise her tomorrow when she and I return.’

‘Why don’t you spread the word quietly today, and everyone can start planning what they want to do.’ He walked back over to the wagon, and ran his right hand beneath the seat cushion this time. ‘There they are! My rope snares and birding net traps! Now I remember I put them there to keep them dry and untangled!’

He turned, traps in hand, to Carl, and said, ‘In fact, send Daisy out to me this morning – we’ll hike out a ways and set some traps. See what we can scare up for dinner. You can get busy with the plans.’ Bullroarer waved off Carl and stood humming happily to himself as he straightened out nets and snares.

Carl went in to find Daisy.

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]