A Land to Call Their Own RPG

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold felt enormously relieved that the whole babysitting mess was over. Back in Bree, he'd always complied with Kalimac’s requests and thought that he was a fair Hobbit. But he remained convinced that the Whitfoots ought to pay his children something in return for their work. Harold had expected Kalimac to put up more of a fight, but instead the Fallohide had readily accepted with only a minimum of fuss.

Even more surprising to Harold, Kalimac had given the children a few coins of their salary in advance. This was an even more pleasant surprise, although Harold found it a bit strange. Why would anyone pay their employees before they even did any work? Harold was not used to such strange business practices, but he was happy to be on good terms with Kalimac. He was not a rebel by nature and preferred things to go quietly and smoothly.

After eating breakfast, Harold decided to go over and thank the Whitfoot’s for their generosity. He walked up to Kalimac’s wagon where he found his wife Elsa in the middle of washing up the breakfast dishes. He approached her politely, but in a much more relaxed and confident manner than he would normally have done so in Bree. “Why hello Ma’am,” said Harold tipping his hat, “How good it is to talk to you . I would just like to thank you for your generosity. You didn’t have to pay them in advance. That was very kind of you!” Elsa said nothing but gave Harold a quizzical stare that suggested she had no idea what he was talking about.

Harold looked up embarassed. Surely Kalimac had discussed these arrangements with his wife! Attempting to fill in the awkward silence, the Harfoot blundered on with a more lengthy explanation, “Your husband offered to pay Harold and May for their services. He even gave them a few coins in advance. I would just like to assure you that the children have promised me they will take the job seriously and earn every penny of their pay. Your children will never be in any danger. Your husband’s money will be well spent.”

When Elsa started back even more vacantly than before. Harold shrugged his shoulders, still puzzled by Elsa’s behavior, and returned to his wagon to prepare his family for departure.

[alaklondewen]

Marcho and Blanco returned to the camp about midmorning, firewood in tow. They had made their trek through the forest and back without a hitch. Blanco inquired about the night before, but Marcho kept quiet, not wanting to make himself look weak in the eyes of his younger brother.

Most of the settlers already had their wagons packed and fires stomped out when the brothers arrived, so they were able to wrap up the morning’s activities easily, and soon the caravan had returned to the long road.

Although the morning had been clear and the sun showed promise of warm weather, as the day progressed, the travelers found themselves under a grey sky that moved over them from the west. Soon a cool drizzle fell, and their spirits fell with it. Some of the families were prepared for the rain and covered themselves with tarps, but many could not afford such things and resorted to using bed sheets and blankets. Of course, those were not efficient and the hobbits were soon soaked through.

The group only stopped once, late in the afternoon, to fix a meal, but the rain remained constant, so there were no fires to cheer their thoughts. The travelers remained relatively quiet as the miles slipped slowly by. No songs were sung today. The children remained in their wagons or on their ponies and did not run about in general merriment. Heads hung and shoulders drooped, and most everyone reveled in his or her own gloominess.

The rain eased and finally let up entirely as the early evening approached. One might have expected the group would have been thrilled to have escaped the shower, but they were too miserable to be very happy about anything at this point. They did, however, become more vocal, and although Marcho could hear their grumblings at the front of the line, he kept them moving far into the evening when they finally arrived at the next planned campsite.

The travelers quickly unpacked their camping supplies and worked on building another communal fire. After they changed into dry clothes and began to prepare for their evening meals, the tension that had been building all that day finally erupted. It all started with Mrs. Elsa Whitfoot who could not wait another moment to confront her husband about a small financial arrangement Kalimac had made with the Chubb children. It seems the husband left his wife out of the negotiations, and she was none too pleased. Well, Kalimac now found himself in some trouble with his wife, and he needed to get out of it, so the conservative hobbit called Mr. Harold Chubb over to release some of his frustration on, and point a finger to, the father of said Chubb children. Harold refused to be blamed for the Whitfoots’ miscommunication and stood up impressively to his employer. The Chubb’s wife and father saw what was happening, and soon the adults of both families were shouting and waving their arms and putting on a rather entertaining scene that the other settlers could not help but watch.

[Arestevana]

Elsa glared angrily around the quarreling group. She fumed silently, trying to catch her breath after a furious tirade at Sarah Chubb. She tired to remember what she had said. Perhaps it had something to do with people who exploit others? It did not particularly bother Elsa that she could not recall her arguments clearly. She hardly knew whom the arguments were intended to clout anyway.

It had begun as a simple disagreement. Kalimac had made a financial decision without her consent and she’d politely asked for an explanation. Perhaps politely wasn’t exactly the term to use, but she hadn’t yelled. Well, she hadn’t intended to yell. Now Mr. and Mrs. Chubb were in the argument too, as well as Mr. Chubb’s father. For the sake of pride Elsa turned her anger on them, rather than on ‘the family’. She had, by this time, thoroughly convinced herself that the Chubbs were to blame; Harold Chubb had been trying to exploit Kalimac’s generosity.

Having found her voice again, Elsa jumped right bask into the verbal free-for-all with a shot at Fordogrim. She tried to keep her voice at a reasonable volume, not wanting to be the first of the group to start shouting. “This never would have happened if your son hadn’t asked for pay! We give him sufficient wages already! Why should we pay our employees twice? Do your grandchildren need to be bribed in order to maintain a passable level of responsibility? How on earth were those children brought up?”

By this time Elsa realized that she was going to sincerely regret this whole argument. However, she felt as if she was too far in to back out, and she was certainly too proud to walk of in a huff. So instead she turned her rage on her husband, whom, she reasoned, hat gotten her into this fight by blaming Mr. Chubb. “Kalimac, this is madness! What are we doing, arguing with these folk? It doesn’t matter if we are being manipulated, just stop being a fool! We shouldn’t grudge them the money!” If she recognized self-contradiction when it came from her own mouth, Elsa gave no sign of it. Nor did she stop being unreasonable, stating haughtily, “If we cannot trust these folk with our money, why do we trust them with our children? Surely our children are of infinitely more value than any coin!”

Elsa set her jaw and crossed her arms irately. People are such fools! She felt a sudden wish that these were only naughty children to be chased out of the garden with a broom. However, voices were vying for dominance, and Elsa soon heard an argument being leveled in her direction. Elsa glowered defiantly at her accuser, wondering what pathetic complaint they had to offer.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim had spent the day happily dozing in his saddle and offering advice to members of the convoy who happened to stray close enough to him to wake him up. The rain had come as an unhappy surprise, but the old hobbit had spent a long lifetime outdoors working the fields and was not to be deterred by a bit of wet (even though the damp made his leg ache). He noted with disdain the rudimentary attempts by the Whitfoots to protect themselves from the water, and with pride the stoicism of his own family. As the afternoon had worn on and the sky had begun to grow dark, Fordogrim had contemplated another confrontation with Marco but decided against it: the scout was clearly too far gone in his lunacy to be swayed by even the most commonsensical observations of a level-headed hobbit such as himself!

He was asleep once more when the argument started, but the raised voices of his Harold and Sarah were enough to stir him from where he slumbered with his back to the cartwheel. When Fordogrim saw who they were fighting with, he could not repress a happy smile of pride at their determination, even if he did not approve of their target. It never did any good to go after one’s employer, no matter how thick-headed and tight-fisted they might be! Hauling himself upright, the old hobbit hobbled over to the squabbling families to hear the argument better. Almost as soon as he got within range of the fury Mrs. Elsa Whitfoot turned toward him a torrent of abuse: “This never would have happened if your son hadn’t asked for pay! We give him sufficient wages already! Why should we pay our employees twice? Do your grandchildren need to be bribed in order to maintain a passable level of responsibility? How on earth were those children brought up?”

Fordogrim was stunned, and not just by the sudden attack on himself, but by the total lack of respect for his years and hobbit-sense that it showed. So enraged was he by Elsa’s attack that for a moment he stood his ground absolutely wordless with rage. Elsa, clearly taking this as a victory over him, turned to her husband to abuse him. “Kalimac,” she began, “this is madness! What are we doing, arguing with these folk? It doesn’t matter if we are being manipulated, just stop being a fool! We shouldn’t grudge them the money!”

These folk? Manipulated? This was the first and last straw for Fordogrim. Raising his cane to emphasise the full extent of his rage at the Whitfoots he staggered forward a step. He felt rather than saw Harold and Sarah attempt to stop him but nothing short of an earthquake could have diverted Fordogrim’s attention to his landlords in that moment. “Now you just listen here a moment young Miss Elsa! It’s handsome is as handsome does, I always say, and at the moment you are acting in a manner that’s far from handsome. After all the years that me and mine have been a-working your lands and providing you with rent you should owe us all a bit more respect, even if the fact that I knew your father from the time he was a rapscallion lad stealing apples from my orchard weren’t enough to shame your tongue from a-speaking to me as you have!”

Elsa and Kalimac bridled at this and said some angry words in response, unused as they were to hearing their oldest and most stable tenant farmer speak back to them. Fordogrim, emboldened by their reaction, pressed forward, despite the warning hand he felt Harold place on his shoulder. “As to the money that’s been paid, you should be thankful that our Henry and May were a-willing to take on the job of looking after your fool children. Why any hobbit with even half the sense his mother gave him can see that a Whitfoot is about as suited for a journey of this type as an easy-chair. Sitting about in your comfortable holes all day, counting out the earnings that others with grit have made for you – that’s what you're good for.”

Kalimac raged at Fordogrim for this, stepping so close to the older hobbit that Fordogrim had to take a stumbling step back. He raised his cane toward the taller and younger hobbit in order to shake it beneath his nose as he let loose with his most stinging retort, but then a very unfortunate thing happened. Just as Fordogrim began to shake the knobbled head of his cane beneath Kalimac’s nose, the Whitfoot moved his head forward to make an emphatic point. End of cane collided with tip of nose, and Kalimac roared with pain and anger.

[Kransha]

The day had seemed so calm before, despite minor annoyances and inconveniences biting like pestering gnats at Kalimac. Now, the prosperous hobbit found himself more muddled then ever before. The families were slowly but surely breaking out into a very perplexing argument. It had actually begun with him, seeming simple enough to end. Elsa had inquired, with surprising politeness (or at least Kalimac tried to take it as politeness) but obvious anger about the payment of the Chubb children. Too tired and annoyed by the day’s happenstance to respond, Kalimac simply appropriated Harold Chubb to explain the matter in simple terms. Unfortunately, his shifting of responsibility was interpreted as a pinning of blame, and Harold became defensive. Now his family had joined in the argument and Kalimac wasn’t entirely sure who was defending who. His wife, the ever-ready Elsa Whitfoot, heralded Kalimac onto the playing field by taking her anger out on Sarah Chubb, but swiftly turned to him and redirected her righteous fury.

“Surely our children are of infinitely more value than any coin!” concluded his wife after her brief, but caustic tirade at her husband. Kalimac, looking slightly floored by everything that was happening, managed a response meekly. He did not have time to consider what he was saying, so the awkward puddle of words promptly spilled out of his slacked jaw as he tried to salvage the ruined situation.

“Yes, yes, of course they are, that’s not the…umm…that’s not the issue here. I…I think…I think we can trust them with money. I mean, we’ve always paid them well before and they’ve never slacked off in their work, or even asked for forwarding of funds or any such financial aid, though they might sorely need it. It is not me who is being the fool here, Elsa, it’s just that….that…” his tiny voice shrunk, shriveled up, and finally faded from existence. He could think of no more to say an thus didn't bother trying.

For a moment, Kalimac looked like he really had no idea what he was saying, irritation, rage, befuddlement, confusion, and an utter sense of chaos welling up in him, but he immediately summed up all the plausible choices and was about to defend himself when he was interrupted hastily by the person he’d least expected to interrupt him, old Fordogrim Chubb. The old hobbit went on for a good minute, sending Kalimac’s maelstrom of a mind for a loop as he saw all the paths that lay before him dematerializing and materializing like fireflies in the night. He stood agape, utterly gone from sanity, as the elder drones on.

“Why any hobbit with even half the sense his mother gave him can see that a Whitfoot is about as suited for a journey of this type as an easy-chair. Sitting about in your comfortable holes all day, counting out the earnings that others with grit have made for you – that’s what you're good for.” The elder drew his almost narrative oration to a close, looking set in his decisions. Kalimac felt a vein on his neck throbbing unnaturally as one of his ears twitched, as they so often did.

“Now see here,” Roared Kalimac, suddenly feeling his voice, formerly hushed and meek, grow in volume and enraged splendor, “That is entirely uncalled for! You can insult me as much as you want, Mister Chubb, but, never make the mistake of insulting my family, my children, or my wife!”

He ranted on; moving forward slowly and nearing Fordogrim, as he summed his argument up, his voice swelled ten fold. The other hobbit seemed at least slightly reduced and Kalimac saw this as a good sign, so he moved, unfortunately, closer to his ‘opponent’ on this verbal field of battle. He saw too late the elder raising his cane and swiping it unintentionally near his own nose. To add to the cruelty of fate, it was at that moment that Kalimac chose to bow his head forward, making gestures like those he’s seen on the great orators and wandering speechmakers of Bree. The cane, as his wide eyes saw all too well, slapped right against Kalimac’s vulnerable nose. The hobbit stumbled back, clutching his now reddened nose angrily.

The cane’s thwacking against Kalimac’s face was not truly painful, but the hobbit could take no more of this. His small, usually pensive eyes, filled with unhobbit-like fire as he dove forward madly at the aged gentlehobbit, Fordogrim Chubb. The one hobbit’s cold fingers groped outward towards his foe’s open throat, though he missed miserably and only ended up fumbling forward awkwardly, his teeth grinding menacingly.

“YOU ADDLE-BRAINED OLD GOAT!” the usually reserved hobbit bellowed at the top of his small lungs, literally clamoring on top of poor Fordogrim. He would’ve punched himself in the round belly if he’d realized that he was attacking an elderly, venerable Halfling, but for once in his life, his thoughts leapt ahead of him as he half-tackled the grandfather, only to find his grasping, wrenching fingers filled with hobbit shirt collar, and his stomach filled with a well-aimed hobbit cane.

[Witch_Queen]

Sarah was already tired of the arguement. She knew the disagreement was long over due. "Elsa we aren't manipulating anyone here. MY CHILDREN ARE NOT YOURS TO CONTROL. We have worked your lands for you but when it comes to our children I want more for them than I do for myself. IF you are so full of yourself that you can't take a moment off of your little cloud to see that than you are a fool." Sarah didn't like to insult someone but when it came to her children she didn't care anymore. May and Henry was all she had besides Harold and Grandpa. Her family had left when she had gotten married. I want more for my children. After all they don't have everything I wish I could give them. Sarah wasn't going to back away from Elsa. She wasn't going to let some Fallohide take advantage of her family's graditude.

Sarah wouldn't have anyone talking bad to her father-in-law. They had their differences but still she wasn't going to stand back and do nothing. It was up to her to say something about what the arguement and now she wished she hadn't gotten into it. "Elsa my children deserve better than that. It was only right taht they are paid for doing anywork for it doesn't matter their station in life. My children deserve to be paid for their work." Sarah thought she had made her point a little clearer but wasn't sure.

[alaklondewen]

Memory of Tree's post

The rain suited May’s mood exactly. She sat outside the wagon, moody and silent as the cold rain soaked through her dress and petticoats and stockings. May was in what Henry called her “weird mood.” Periodically she got like this – sullen and silent, happy one moment, angry the next. As she sat there shivering and utterly miserable, May began to softly sing a non-sense ditty she had made up as a very little girl.

Plink, plunk-ity, plank,
The rain keeps falling down.
It drips and drops
And never ever stops
Until the sun comes back.
Plink, plunk-ity, plank!

Frigid water dripped down the back of her neck. She sighed drearily, then climbed up into the wagon to change into dry clothes. The Whitfoot children were supposed to be here any minute.

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Alak's post: Henry Chubb

When they pulled into the campsite that night, Henry and May took up the responsibility of their contractual obligations with the Whitfoots. Crispin showed a bit of an attitude toward Henry and would not talk to him, and the older boy was certain this was merely the beginning of an unfortunate relationship between himself and the Whitfoot son. The Chubb offspring and Crispin had volunteered to help with the bonfire (Alora was the exception as she was sleeping soundly in the wagon), so they were not present when the argument broke out between their parents. Now the four, the children and their guardians, lined a small log, silently observing the madness that had overtaken the adults.

Henry began to wonder whether he and May were the only sane one’s left and was soon getting tired and irritated, not to mention embarrassed, by his parents’ behavior. Glancing at the other end of their bench, he was surprised to see May with an expression of pure entertainment. Was she enjoying this? Shaking his head in amazement, he turned his focus from the dispute and tried to find something else to amuse him. Most of the other settlers were either watching the Whitfoot-Chubb match. A few were resting in their wagons, doing their best to mind their own business, but no one was doing anything exciting. Even the Boffins were relatively somber.

Henry sent a fleeting look over his shoulder toward the forest that loomed behind them. He sure wanted to check that creepy old place out. Looking around him, from his parents to the nearest adults and then to May, he decided if he was going to be able to do some exploring…the time was now.

“Hey, Crispin,” Henry nudged the soon-to-be adolescent trying to sound upbeat, as much as knew how to be upbeat anyway. The boy just looked at him without answering. “Do ya like to explore?” Crispin’s eyes widened. Henry had his attention now. “Wanna check out the forest?”

“Sure!” Crispin quickly agreed and hopped off the log.

“What are you doing?” May questioned them with a hint of suspicion in her voice.

“We’re just going to do some exploring,” Henry shrugged off his sister’s penetrating eyes. “No big deal, Sis. Wanna come?”

“I do!” Alora excitedly stood up on the log, jumped off, and grabbed her brother’s hand.

“Where are you going, Henry?” May was not letting them get away that easily.

“Just around the edge of the forest, that’s all. Come on, May…it’ll be fun.”

“Henry, you know that’s not a good idea. Mr. Whitfoot’d skin you alive if he found out you were taking his kids into that forest.”

“He’s not going to find out,” Henry said simply, throwing another look toward the adults. “You can come or not, Mayflower, but we’re going.” With that Henry grabbed Alora’s other hand, and the threesome quickly and quietly made their way into the forest.

[Melisil]

For most of the day Alora and her family had been traveling somewhat wearily in the rain. Her parents both seemed tired, and weren't smiling. Crispin wasn't smiling for that matter either, but having him beside her made her feel safer in the rain anyways. Personally, Alora acually loved the rain. The only part about it she didn't like was the cold it brought. She sat in a corner of her family's uncovered cart, blankets piled on top of her for the whole trip. She just laughed at the tickling feeling the rain played on her face.

By the time they arrived at what she was told was going to be their camp for the night it was still raining. Alora couldn't tell you that though as she had fallen asleep only a half hour earlier, and as she was peacefull there on the cart, no one woke her.

Alora dreamed peacefully of playing in a stream that was by a new house, Alora had guessed it was where they were going. She awoke to find both her parents, and the Chubb grownups yelling at each other something horrid. The yelling scared Alora. It scared her in a way she hardly knew before. She jumped quickly out of the wagon and over to Crispin. She grabbed her big brothers arm. "Why are they fighting Crispin?" she asked in almost a shriek (because of fear).

"They're fighting over grownup stuff Alora, you wouldn't understand." came Crispin's reply.

Alora couldn't tell what tone Crispin had used at her, and this only added to her fear. She watched as their parents fury grew. "Make it stop Crispin, please!"

Crispin looked down at his sister, "Don't worry Alora, it'll be ok. I'm here, and mum and dad won't be fighting for long." Crispin's words comforted Alora greatly. She held tight to her brothers arm, still unsure what to do, but calmer none the less.

Although she hadn't noticed it at first, being distracted by her parents arguments, Henry and May Chubb were sitting down on on log next to them. Although slightly startled by this, Alora supposed they were doing the thing called babysitting her father had talked to her about. She was still rather confused by what the term babysitting meant, though she supposed it meant they would be sitting on babys.

Temporarily distracted from her parents arguments, Alora made her way over to May. "Um, May." she started shyly, "pardon, but where are all the babys your supposed to be sitting on?"

May Chubb looked at her confused for a moment, before responding with a laugh, "Babysitting means that we're watching you and your brother, Alora." Alora was taken aback by this response, so instead of trying to work it out, she sat down on the log next to the two Chubbs, and waited for Crispin to sit aswell.

After a minute of sitting silently, puzzling over the term 'babysitting', Henry Chubb stood up, and asked Crispin if he would like to go exploring, at which, Crispin responded with a yes. Alora, not wanting to be left out of the fun, jumped up aswell and cried out, "I want to go too!"

Henry smiled at this, but May told him that, for some reason which had to do with Alora's daddy, they shouldn't go. "Why can't we go?" Alora asked, totally lost as to why they couldn't explore, "We're allowed to go 'sploring at home."

[Regin Hardhammer]

At first, Harold was puzzled when Kalimac called him over demanding to know what he had told Elsa about the babysitting and the money given to the children. For one moment, Harold stood to the side, trying to sort out everything inside his head. I don’t understand why Kalimac is getting mad at me. I was only trying to be polite.

His intention had not been to start trouble, but now a huge fight had erupted causing the entire camp to come to a screeching halt. Harold tried to defend his actions, but every thing he said seemed to be twisted and came out sounding differently. Worst of all, everyone was looking at them. Elsa and Sarah were waving their arms and trading sharp remarks. Grandpa Fordo’s leg appeared to be completely healed as he sprinted forward and scuffled valiantly with Kalimac. Kalimac seemed to be getting the worst of it and was whacked on the back by his father's cane which had accidentally loosened from Fordogrim's feeble grip.

This has gone far enough, thought Harold. I must help put an end to this nonsense. By nature, he was a peaceful Hobbit, and considered violence a waste of energy. Harold walked up to Fordogrim and Kalimac hoping to separate the two and bring them to their senses. He did not think that his elderly father would fare well if Kalimac decided to retaliate.

Before Harold could put his plan into operation, Kalimac let out a loud cry “YOU ADDLE-BRAINED OLD GOAT,” and charged forward, knocking Harold's father to the ground. Kalimak loomed over the aged Fordogrim, his hand grasping the older Hobbit's shirt. The calm, reasonable Harold felt a knot of rage swelling up inside his stomach and then spreading out through his entire body. Nobody calls my father an addle-brained old goat, even though he sometimes may act like it.


Growing up, Harold had participated in a few fistfights and minor scuffles with other Harfoot lads in his neighborhood. But he'd made a point to steer clear of the richer Fallohides whose burrows were located in the wealthier sections of town. After coming of age and settling down, he had few disagreements with the Whitfoots. When differences arose, he'd generally backed down and complied with their requests. None of these scenes had ever turned violent, or even terribly angry. This time, however, he could not contain his rage. Charging head on like a ram, Harold bellowed, “Kalimac, you can whine to me how you got in trouble with your wife because you didn’t tell her about the babysitting money, but you can not insult my father.”

Harold let out a deafening roar, which if he had been cool headed, would have surprised even the humble Hobbit himself. This should teach that cocky, rich landowner that he can not step on my family and get away with it. Blinded by ire, Harold pinned Kalimac to the ground and lifted his chubby fist high in the air, starting to bring it down with great force right in the center of the rich Hobbit’s face.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Four swift dark shadows padded noiselessly over the North Downs and then slipped into an isolated wood thicket, scouring the land for any scent of prey. The pickings from the night before had been pitifully few. There had been no deer or ferral pigs; they had been compelled to make do with one tiny coney whose body had been greedily devoured. The empty feeling in their bellies drove the pack onward towards the ancient Forest, a territory they usually avoided. Desperate to find something to eat, they put aside normal caution and ventured onto unfamiliar ground, hoping that the pickings would be better there.

Grog halted for a moment under a low craggy overhang and sat on his haunches, signalling the others to do the same. A lean scarred bundle of muscle and grit, leader of the pack, he cocked his head to one side and sniffed the night air to try and determine what lay ahead. A sudden breeze carried faint scents from the south, a strange yet familiar odor that he could not quite place.

"Two-leggeds?" Aisha queried, flinging a probing eye at Grog. "Men or Orcs? They make poor hunting and worse eating." She spat the words onto the ground with undisguised contempt.

None of the pack wanted to deal with Orcs or Men. They'd had too many bad encounters. Their own band had once included twelve wolves and several pups. Two-leggeds and their infernal wars had made their lives a misery in the far north. All the plump livestock and even the deer had been killed off by marauding soldiers. Six of their own number had died, clubbed down by a band of raiding Orcs who had dismembered the carcasses with fierce, bloody hands and eaten them raw. Aisha quivered at the memory of her lost brothers and sisters.

Grog smelled again and then smiled as the meaning of the scent became clear. His nostrils widened as he drew the air in, tasting it on his tongue. "No, these are not Men or Orcs. I have seen their kind before: small things that go on two legs, plump and tasty, and not so large or fierce as the others. Just right for a pack such as ours."

Grog leaned his head back and howled at the moon in triumph, anticipating his victory meal. The other three did the same. Then the band silently got to its feet and, following the scent, descended towards the target at a dead run.

[ArwenBaggins]

Crispin's grip was taught on his sister's hand. Even though he felt foolish by holding hands with a girl (even a little one), he knew that if she was lost or hurt he'd be doom. And with his father and mother in the raged state that they were, getting in trouble probably wasn't such a good idea...

As they entered the forest, Crispin pulled his spitty hay from his mouth and shoved it in his vest pocket. "Crispin, it's dark in here," Alora tightened her grip on her older brother's hand and wimpered.

"Aw, c'mon Alora. We 'xplore all tha time at home. This is just like home... only alot bigger. No, don't cry!" His sister puckered her lip and looked up to him with watery blue eyes. Sighing advertly, he looked down at her. "D'you want a piggy-back ride?" The little giggled and jumped up and down.

Bending down, he allowed Alora to get on his back. Henry smiled at him and Crispin tried to smile back. He hadn't relized how heavy Alora was getting.