So engrossed was the child in his pursuit of the grasshopper that he took no note of where he ran. His attention so grabbed it was easy for his observer to follow him un-noticed. The little boy laughed as every time his hand stretched out to catch the green creature it took another leap out of his grasp. It even managed a sarcastic chirp of it's legs as it finally vanished into some particularly long grass at the side of the lane.
"Bother!" The boy snapped and kicked up some gravel into the verge in frustration. "I only wanted to be friends you silly thing."
He turned about to go home and walked straight into a leg. Fosco leapt back and held up his fists. He stared up into the eyes of a giant man who seemed to be laughing at him. Old Stoat had really taken to the work Ferny had set him of late.
"Phew you're smelly!" Fosco shouted. He had no fear of the man. He had not learned to fear men. He merely stood his ground, a miniture pugalist.
"Aye, ah may be." Stoatie replied and took a casual sniff at his own coat. "But ah do have some sweeties in me pocket and ah'm a good sight more friendly than that there grasshopper."
Fosco weighed him up as much as his child's brain could. He knew he shouldn't talk to strangers but then he knew he shouldn't have wandered off in the first place. Besides, surely everyone meant strange hobbits, not men. No body had mentioned men to him. He thought he'd ask, just in case. He allowed his arms to fall but braced his leg to give him a good kick if needs be.
"Are you a man?"
"Aye, Fosco, Ah am."
"How do you know my name?" He gasped.
"I've bin watchin' o'er you. I'm a good friend. Keepin' an eye, makin' sure yer fine an' dandy."
"Why?" Fosco took a step towards his new companion, but not too close, his stench was over powering for an adult's nostrils, nevermind a child's.
"The elf-lady told me to." Old Stoat hoped that all his spying had paid off. He and Ferny had thought this a useful tack for when their plans drew close to Hobbiton. It would give them a plausible face to the children and if necessary a scapegoat while they made their exit.
"I don't know any elf ladies. Where are your sweeties then." Fosco hadn't a clue whether he did or not, he just wanted a sweetmeat.
Stoatie dug around in his pocket and pulled out a carefully folded handerchief quite juxtaposed to his image. It was even cleanish. He croutched down before the hobbit boy and offered the closed handerchief to him. Focused on the handerchief and the promise of its contents, Fosco stepped forward. He reached out to snatch the handkerchief and make a run for it. Stoatie was old but his reflexes, lightening quick. Broad daylight or no, the boy was grabbed.
Fosco was not an easy catch and both bit and kicked Stoatie several times before he was hauled through the hedge and out of sight. He wriggled like an eel or any number of other creatures that had no desire to be trapped but Stoatie had come prepared. The boy was soon trussed up like a spider's dinner and dumped, gagged upon the moss between some tree roots. Old Stoat rubbed his bruises and sucked his bitten hand.
"Ferny was right, yer are a little monster. Ah'll soon sort yer out." He gesticulated with the back of his hand to show that Fosco was heading for a slap. The child, now quite frightened, stared at him through wide, watering eyes and longed for his mother. He could neither shout, nor move. He sniffed loudly.
Stoatie sucked his hand again. "We'll let's be havin' yer, yer little brat." He snapped at the boy, wrapped him in his own coat and flung him over his shoulder.
To begin with on their journey across country Fosco and made himself nigh on impossible to carry by constant squirming. Another silent threat from Stoatie soon stilled the boy.
Back in the lane grasshoppers continued to rattle and a handkerchief dangled, caught in the hedge thorns.
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Auriel
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