The Gathering-In, or The Quest of the 24 Messengers. - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Child of the 7th Age · 09-03-2002, 05:53 PM

The solitary grey figure in the cart made his way in silence along the forest track. The peddler could sense that something was wrong. Even the pony seemed reluctant to place one foot in front of the other.

The driver of the cart pulled on the reins and gazed about, first one way and then the other. His hat sloped down, its wide brim hiding his eyes from any who might chance by. Sometimes he dreamed of going to that other place where beauty still lived and the light shone forth. But not today, not today, for something was very wrong.

Then he spied a distant view just off the road. He dismounted from the cart and hid behind the trees. A family of hole-diggers, a small and pitiful family, slowly dragged a body behind them. They were struggling towards the high ledge, about to hurl their burden over the cliff into the waters of a bottomless spring. From the look of things, they were in a hurry to leave that cursed spot.

A single glance about said why. He had only to feel the sadness, and to smell the blood soaked into the ground. The grey peddler shook his head. It was not difficult to see what had happened here: the bloody remains of the kuduk, the hound's body still in disarray, his master not far behind. The hunter and the hunted were now joined together in death.

He shook his head and tried to push down rising anger. Why? What sense was this? He had seen the little ones arrive on the banks of the Anduin some 600 years before. Yet, still, there was much to be done and little time to do it. And so many of them suffered yet, hunted down by the big folk like coneys or rats. He feared greatly that when the great challenge came there would be none left to meet it. And the true sadness was that the big ones could not see how their own fate lay intertwined with those they despised.

But, if he could not do everything, he
must at least do what he could. He came towards the family, with arms raised in the air. His staff dropped to the ground. For one instant it looked as if the young lad might leap at him with knife in hand, but then the peddler began to speak. His words, so gentle and wise, turned the boy's rage into ragged grief. Time stood suspended in a quiet circle of sadness.

He beckoned to the kuduk to come into the cart, and to bring the burden they carried. That night, as the sun sank, they found a spot on a shaded bluff and, together, built a barrow. Then he fed them a meal and spoke with the mother, so distraught, and her son who seemed stooped under his heavy new burden. "You must journey towards Bree," he told them. "It is possible that help will come for you on the forest track but, if not, then go to that city. It will be a hard and long way, but hope lies for you in that direction. If you make it, head towards the Inn and inquire about one of the messengers or the Rangers. They are both hobbit kin and one of them will help you."

The next morning, he set them on the right path, and watched the small fgures retreat down the hill. He hoped they believed and trusted him enough to carry on as he had said. He wondered how many others were hiding in the woods whose grief he could not see or help.

As the grey figure mounted the cart to make his way toward Rivendell, he could not shake from his mind the one thing the family had confided to him. Why did it sound so familiar to him? He had asked for their clan name and they had mumbled something in reply. It sounded just a bit like the name "Gamgee."

[ September 04, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

09-03-2002, 05:53 PM	#11
Child of the 7th Age Spirit of the Lonely Star Join Date: Mar 2002 Posts: 5,133	The solitary grey figure in the cart made his way in silence along the forest track. The peddler could sense that something was wrong. Even the pony seemed reluctant to place one foot in front of the other. The driver of the cart pulled on the reins and gazed about, first one way and then the other. His hat sloped down, its wide brim hiding his eyes from any who might chance by. Sometimes he dreamed of going to that other place where beauty still lived and the light shone forth. But not today, not today, for something was very wrong. Then he spied a distant view just off the road. He dismounted from the cart and hid behind the trees. A family of hole-diggers, a small and pitiful family, slowly dragged a body behind them. They were struggling towards the high ledge, about to hurl their burden over the cliff into the waters of a bottomless spring. From the look of things, they were in a hurry to leave that cursed spot. A single glance about said why. He had only to feel the sadness, and to smell the blood soaked into the ground. The grey peddler shook his head. It was not difficult to see what had happened here: the bloody remains of the kuduk, the hound's body still in disarray, his master not far behind. The hunter and the hunted were now joined together in death. He shook his head and tried to push down rising anger. Why? What sense was this? He had seen the little ones arrive on the banks of the Anduin some 600 years before. Yet, still, there was much to be done and little time to do it. And so many of them suffered yet, hunted down by the big folk like coneys or rats. He feared greatly that when the great challenge came there would be none left to meet it. And the true sadness was that the big ones could not see how their own fate lay intertwined with those they despised. But, if he could not do everything, he must at least do what he could. He came towards the family, with arms raised in the air. His staff dropped to the ground. For one instant it looked as if the young lad might leap at him with knife in hand, but then the peddler began to speak. His words, so gentle and wise, turned the boy's rage into ragged grief. Time stood suspended in a quiet circle of sadness. He beckoned to the kuduk to come into the cart, and to bring the burden they carried. That night, as the sun sank, they found a spot on a shaded bluff and, together, built a barrow. Then he fed them a meal and spoke with the mother, so distraught, and her son who seemed stooped under his heavy new burden. "You must journey towards Bree," he told them. "It is possible that help will come for you on the forest track but, if not, then go to that city. It will be a hard and long way, but hope lies for you in that direction. If you make it, head towards the Inn and inquire about one of the messengers or the Rangers. They are both hobbit kin and one of them will help you." The next morning, he set them on the right path, and watched the small fgures retreat down the hill. He hoped they believed and trusted him enough to carry on as he had said. He wondered how many others were hiding in the woods whose grief he could not see or help. As the grey figure mounted the cart to make his way toward Rivendell, he could not shake from his mind the one thing the family had confided to him. Why did it sound so familiar to him? He had asked for their clan name and they had mumbled something in reply. It sounded just a bit like the name "Gamgee." [ September 04, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ] __________________ Multitasking women are never too busy to vote.