[piosenniel]

Frustrated at not being able to find Stoatie, Mithadan made his way back toward the northern gate. The fields were burning, and Ferny’s men were in a rout. Bullies, at best, they had been deflated by the savage assault of the Hobbits, and leaderless, they had sunk quickly into a state of panic, seeking only to flee. Many had tried at first to put up a defense, and of those, many lay wounded and some dead on the cold ground of the compound.

Upon seeing him, Maura made his way to Mithadan’s side. ‘We must have given them enough time to get away with the children. There’s no use in staying any longer – just a greater chance of one of us being killed.’

Rose, her face dark with soot from the fires she and her little band had set, came running up when they saw the two men conferring. ‘We made it as far down as the southern end of the fields,’ she told them. ‘Saw only a few stragglers, and they were heading through to open fencing down there, eastward at a dead run. Looked like many had lost their weapons. And some,’ she laughed, her teeth showing white against her grimed face, ‘some hadn’t even bothered to pull on their boots or belts as they went running, holding their breeches up with their hands and hoping madly from foot to foot.’

‘Let’s round everyone one up then, and make our way to the meeting place,' said Mithadan, leaning on his sword, his face drawn and tired appearing. 'Rose take a head count of your group, and the both of you gather up the extra Shirelings we brought. I’ll get Halfred and his crew together. We’ll meet you just outside the north gate.’

An hour later, the last of the Shire band made it to where the others waited with the ponies. None of the Shirelings or Greenwood contingent had sustained any major injuries, just minor scrapes, and contusions, and the occasional cut whose flow had been stanched by a hastily tied piece of cloth.

Minto and Milo Boffin, were the very last to appear, with their brother Moro supported between them, limping. ‘Tripped over a small barrel in the dark,’ he explained, seeing the others looking at him. Minto chuckled, an incongruent sound after the grimness of their business this night. ‘Yes, and he stinks, too,’ he laughed, holding his nose. ‘Fell onto the barrel and stove it in, he did. Reeks of soured ale now!’

Rose snorted, catching the scent of him on the night’s breeze. She started to giggle, the stress of the battle bubbling out in this lighter manner. The infectious laughter rippled around the group, growing louder as each Hobbit joined in. Mithadan, himself chuckled, nodding his head in appreciation at the ingrained ability of Hobbits to pick a more positive side to a such a dark encounter as they had just gone through.

‘Let’s mount up then,’ he said, once the group had regained its composure. ‘We have a number of hours of riding yet to go before we meet up with the rest of our group.’ Mithadan’s gaze slid to where Moro was being pushed into the saddle by his brothers. His eyes glinted mischievously in the waning moonlight. ‘And you three,’ he called out, catching their attention as the last of them settled himself on his mount, ‘you ride at the rear, downwind of us!’

Minto and Milo looked at each other, and rode slightly ahead of their scented sibling. ‘Rear guard,’ they called back to him, ‘very important position for a man of your . . . umm . . . capability.’ ‘Hmmph!!’ came the curt response.

[ July 24, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]