The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum - View Single Post

Gandalf_theGrey · 12-22-2002, 01:14 AM

* Giles came bounding in, breathlessly red from wind, the excitement of a party, and running so he wouldn't be too late and miss it. Stopping himself just short of knocking over the birthday girl, he bowed and deposited at her feet the birthday mathom he'd scrounged. There was a wooden clatter as of drumsticks being let go after the springle-ring dance. *

Happy Birthday, Daisy! Please accept these skis made from barrel staves, and the matching ski poles that once were used for churning butter. May you glide on these skis to good fortune! Oh, and the bucket of pine sap. See, you spread the pine sap on the bottom of the skis, so they'll sail as freely over any snow as ... as Elven ships sail asea!

* Grandma Harfoot looked up from sewing a pocket onto a vest on hearing the talk turn to butter churns. * Mind you, Giles! Be a good lad. If there's time afore you go braving that sea of snow between here and that outlandish Rivendell place, (instead of staying here and keeping your poor old granny company so she doesn't worry herself to death thinking about you), can you see to replacing my butter churn sticks? Daisy's more than welcome to the ones you've given her, mind you. Her birthday, you know! * Grandma Harfoot's face crinkled into one big warm smile. *

* Giles blushed and bowed to his beloved, revered elder. * Why certainly, Grandma!

* Deep down, everyone knew that there was no butter to churn anywhere in Whitfurrows, nor did it look like there ever would be again. Not unless winter released its death-grip on the Shire, or the Elves gave and gave with open hands. *

* In between drifting conversations, Giles overheard that Bullroarer was deciding which foodstuffs to take along as provisions, and which to leave behind with the Harfoot clan in Whitfurrows. He longed to be daring enough to tug on Bullroarer's sleeve and confess that if he had to eat more than a mouthful of fish, he might just as well sit right down and die where he was now, let alone walk all the way to Rivendell sick every step of the way. But there was no way he could bring himself to say a word about it. Better to just trade away that slimey fare in favor of rabbits, or taters, or even squirrels, or the chance to lick any remaining hint of butter from Daisy's new ski poles. *

[ December 22, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

12-22-2002, 01:14 AM	#129
Gandalf_theGrey Visionary Spirit Join Date: May 2002 Posts: 633	* Giles came bounding in, breathlessly red from wind, the excitement of a party, and running so he wouldn't be too late and miss it. Stopping himself just short of knocking over the birthday girl, he bowed and deposited at her feet the birthday mathom he'd scrounged. There was a wooden clatter as of drumsticks being let go after the springle-ring dance. * Happy Birthday, Daisy! Please accept these skis made from barrel staves, and the matching ski poles that once were used for churning butter. May you glide on these skis to good fortune! Oh, and the bucket of pine sap. See, you spread the pine sap on the bottom of the skis, so they'll sail as freely over any snow as ... as Elven ships sail asea! * Grandma Harfoot looked up from sewing a pocket onto a vest on hearing the talk turn to butter churns. * Mind you, Giles! Be a good lad. If there's time afore you go braving that sea of snow between here and that outlandish Rivendell place, (instead of staying here and keeping your poor old granny company so she doesn't worry herself to death thinking about you), can you see to replacing my butter churn sticks? Daisy's more than welcome to the ones you've given her, mind you. Her birthday, you know! * Grandma Harfoot's face crinkled into one big warm smile. * * Giles blushed and bowed to his beloved, revered elder. * Why certainly, Grandma! * Deep down, everyone knew that there was no butter to churn anywhere in Whitfurrows, nor did it look like there ever would be again. Not unless winter released its death-grip on the Shire, or the Elves gave and gave with open hands. * * In between drifting conversations, Giles overheard that Bullroarer was deciding which foodstuffs to take along as provisions, and which to leave behind with the Harfoot clan in Whitfurrows. He longed to be daring enough to tug on Bullroarer's sleeve and confess that if he had to eat more than a mouthful of fish, he might just as well sit right down and die where he was now, let alone walk all the way to Rivendell sick every step of the way. But there was no way he could bring himself to say a word about it. Better to just trade away that slimey fare in favor of rabbits, or taters, or even squirrels, or the chance to lick any remaining hint of butter from Daisy's new ski poles. * [ December 22, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]