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Alaklondewen's post: Marcho Bolger
The hobbits tramped forward through the dense forest. Every step pulled them away from the light and safety, and pushed them into an area where they increasingly felt as though they were being watch. Marcho turned his head from side to side, but he could see no one other than his companions. Whispers in an unknown tongue played around his head, and the moment he would stop and search for their creator, they would cease…only to commence again after the hobbit began moving forward.
“Marcho!” Kalimac tried to call out loudly to the scout, but his voice fell barely above a murmur. Clearing his throat he tried again. “Marcho! We can’t go on like this. I can barely see my feet let alone any sort of path.” His voice sounded raspy in the still air of the forest.
Marcho stopped, but did not reply right away. His brother-in-law was right…it was already going to be difficult to see the timber once they found it. The scout had never felt so strange before in the woodland, but he had never ventured in after dark until now. Marcho was not fearful of much, but he was becoming progressively more uncomfortable by the minute.
Turning in a circle, he gazed intently into the shadows. Just to his left, the trees were slightly parted and there appeared to be a small clearing. “Look over there.” Marcho pointed toward the gap. “We should be able to have enough room to wield our axes through there.” His companions silently nodded and advanced warily.
Marcho carefully stepped over the bracken between the two large willows. A long trailer swayed and grasped at his shoulder even though no breeze blew beneath the forest roof. A shudder ran down the scout’s back. There was no undergrowth here, but tangled roots made it difficult to walk without stumbling. Moonlight fell down through the leaves above and fell on a willow that had fallen in the center of the clearing. The old tree appeared to have been seared. Most likely from lightening, Marcho thought. Whatever the cause, the fallen tree would provide enough timber for several nights. They would be able to carry back what they need for the night, and load the rest in the morning.
“Let’s get the smaller branches off first, before we…” Marcho turned around to face his companions and his face immediately lost all color. “Harold, where is Sarah?” The Chubb wife had been closely following behind her husband, and she was now gone.
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