[piosenniel]

Regin Hardhammer's post

Harold Chubb sat in his oaken rocking chair stubbornly staring into the fire and feeling a little frightened. He was proud of his simple home, a snug two-room burrow in the village of Staddle that lay on the outskirts of Bree. The rooms were small but tidy, and at night the four of them would squeeze together in the family room, leaving the bedroom for the elderly Fordogrim. Things were tight, but it was a warm and cozy place and he hated the thought of leaving it.

As he mulled over what Marcho and Blanco had said at the meeting, he wasn't sure what he should do. A prudent Hobbit, Harold saw little advantage in leaving Bree to go off on some wild adventure. The White Downs and the journey to get there seemed like an outlandish idea that could only lead to disaster.

All his life Harold had lived near Bree, working on a piece of land that was owned by the Whitfoots, a prominent Fallohide family. He had no real desire to leave. Sadly, however, there didn't seem to be much of a choice: if the Whitfoots left, he would have to go with them, for the Big Folk who bought the land had announced their intention to erect a large mill and stable that would leave no room for Harold and his beloved vegetable patch.

Yet the prospect of leaving everything behind did not make him happy. The place they were going probably didn't even have a good Inn like the Prancing Pony, where there was close comradeship and mugs of ale available for a modest penny or two. And what about the safety of his family? Would Grandfather Fordogrim survive the hard journey? Who knows what hardships they might run into on the road?

With mounting apprehension, Harold realized he didn't even own a real weapon such as a sword or a bow. With the dangers of the wilderness soon approaching, he would need something to protect his family. He could not be a master swordsman or archer as some of the Fallohides were. But he did have some practical implements and tools that he used in everyday life: a sharp dagger for chores on the farm; a scythe for cutting grain, and, a fine slingshot used to disperse crows that had gathered too close to his crops. In the absence of proper weapons, perhaps he could use these to defend his wife and children.

With a sigh of resignation, Harold called out to his wife to make sure the young ones brought warm clothes, and reminded her to pack a bag of feed for the chickens. Then he went outside to recheck the wheels on his cart.