A Land to Call Their Own RPG

[Arestevana]

Elsa grimaced as the wagon bounced over an uneven patch of road. She shifted slightly in her seat to peer to the back of the wagon where the children sat, not being entirely able to quell the fear that one of them might have fallen out since she last checked. After all, it had been a rather bumpy five minutes.

Turning back around, Elsa turned her attention to Estella's sweet voice as it drifted back from the wagon just ahead. She was singing an old walking song, and it seemed to be having a very calming affect on the whole caravan. Elsa hummed along under her breath, having forgotten the words. Belatedly recalling the verse, Elsa pondered it quietly as the Estella began a festive melody that soon had those near her singing along.

The bright dawn approaches, the springtime sunrise,
As safe in sweet slumber my family lies,
While I go a-walking to farewell the night,
And greet on returning the clear morning light.

Elsa turned to peer over her shoulder again, regretting that her family was not as safe as the words of the song suggested. She straightened after assuring herself that both Crispin and Alora were still in the wagon. "Elsa," Kalimac said suddenly. "I've been meaning to ask you somthing." Elsa listened, becoming aware as he spoke that he, like her, was worrying about Alora and Crispin. She opened her mouth to speak, the thought better of it. As her husband outlined his idea to have younger folk watch out for the children, Elsa nodded enthusiastically, seeing the wisdom in his idea.

"Perhaps the Chubb children, May and Henry, could handle such an assignment. My question is, very simply, would you be entirely adverse to having May and Henry Chubb watch our children?” Kalimac finished, turning to see her responce. Elsa closed her mouth sharply, aware that she had been gaping.

May and Henry Chubb? But Kal, they're tweens! she protested silently. Tweens watching after our children? Why, May and Henry are practically children themselves... they'd be a bad influence on Alora and Crispin. Then another realization hit her. Oh no! Kal, you mean without...away... letting someone else take care of my babies?

Elsa opened and closed her mouth soundlessly, jarring her teeth when a particularly large bump caught her with her mouth open. She turned automatically to see if the children were alright. When she realized what she'd done, she forced herself to rethink the situation. Alora and Crispin weren't babies, they didn't need her constant attention. May and Henry were well-behaved and responsible, they would watch out for the younger children.

Finally Elsa turned to face Kalimac, forcing a strained smile. "You're right, of course, dear." she admitted reluctantly. "It's an excellent idea. I'm not at all opposed to it. Well, perhaps just a little." She amended, seeing his slight smile. He knew her too well to believe that. She leaned back into her seat and by a great effort managed to keep from turning around to check on the children. Sighing, she wondered what she had gotten herself into.

[Kransha]

Kalimac waited patiently for an adequate response from his wife. He saw a thin smile peel over her features, but he could tell that it was not entirely genuine. Elsa always had issues like this concerning the children. Unlike Kalimac, she was comparatively more over-protective of them. The gentlehobbit of Bree didn’t mind this, since her brimming care and concern for the Whitfoot offspring allowed him to concentrate on other things. It would, though, be good for her to learn that she, like Kalimac, could not keep both eyes keenly set on their children every hour of the day. Kalimac hoped she would not oppose his decision, considering what a breath if fresh air that situation would be for the both of them. Finally, she spoke, “You’re right, of course, dear. It’s an excellent idea. I’m not opposed to it. Well, perhaps just a little.” Her smile became more real as a grin crept onto Kalimac’s face as well. He turned back briefly to Staddle and Archet, who again seemed to be whispering to each other like a pair of gossiping housewives. A look of bewilderment came upon his face as he looked at their strange conspiring, but then his look returned to relieved satisfaction as he looked back at Elsa, the smile returning to him.

“I’m glad you agree, Elsa. When we set up camp I will approach the Chubbs about it.” He saw a lingering look of doubt on her face, which he’d expected. He turned fully to her, holding reins firmly, and said, “Do not worry about the children, dear, May and Henry Chubb may still be but tweens themselves, but they are responsible tweens,” he added, under his breath, “Or at least Harold told me they were responsible.”

He spoke up again, “In any case, Crispin and Alora are not so hard to keep track of…Alright, I suppose that’s not really true, but that’s the point of choosing May and Henry to watch them. They are children just like Crispin and Alora so they have the required energy and youth to keep up with them at all times. I am sure we can trust them not to do anything rash while caring for our children.”

Kalimac wondered for a moment at what he’d just said. For some reason, he was starting to see why his wife might frown upon the idea if she did at all. Yes, Mayflower and Henry Chubb were responsible youths, but could they really be trusted with the safeguarding of two younger children? Kalimac sighed and turned back to Staddle and Archet. As he fixed his narrowed eyes on the horses they almost seemed to take notice and promptly stopped their whispering and returned to thinking about whatever horses think about when they're pulling carts.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim winced as Stout stumbled on a rock, jarring the old hobbit’s gammy leg. Sarah had been full of concern for him after his tumble into the briars, but he hadn’t told her what the fall had done to his leg. It had hurt, on and off, for almost twenty years now, but always it had been a dull ache – not like this. Sharp spasms of pain went from his hip to his foot every time he was jarred suddenly, some of them strongly enough to make him catch his breath. He shifted in his saddle as Stout looked back at him apologetically. He patted the pony’s neck in forgiveness and smiled at the little fellow’s snicker of joy. Fordogrim liked being old – as it gave him a certain leeway in the expression of his ideas, if not always the respect that he deserved – but he did not like for other hobbits to think of him as being old. So he kept to himself the information that a slight stumble had rendered him virtually unable to walk. It didn’t matter, Stout would be able to bear him on this journey.

At his side walked May. She had been sticking close to him ever since Luncheon and he could tell that she was doing so out of a sense of solidarity. He was glad for her company on the road, for among all of his family she had the most hobbit sense. They chatted amicably of the lands they were passing through, as neither of them had been this way. May asked if Fordogrim knew anything of where they would be stopping for the night, for rumors had been passing up and down the convoy ever since the Bolgers had called a brief meeting. Fordogrim called out to Fredigar Headstrong who was riding just ahead of them. “Hoy there, Fredigar! Come back here and tells us what you’ve heard from the Big Leaders about where we’re headed!” Fredigar fell in beside May and Fordogrim and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Well I was asking that same question myself to Marcho, as I’ve heard some awful queer tales about those woods, awful queer. 'You ain’t leadin’ us into some kind of unnatural place?' I asked him. But he just looks about, not meeting my eyes mind, and mumbles at me that I’ve been listening to too many children’s tales. Well, there’s a lot more truth in children’s stories than I think some are willing to let on! And I’ve heard some awfully queer tales about those woods. Awful queer.”

Fordogrim and May merely nodded gravely at Fredigar’s narration. After a few more polite words, Fred moved back to his place in the convoy. May could not help but laugh aloud at the fellow’s manner, but Fordogrim spoke sharply to her. “You’d best not be a-laughing at that fellow’s worries, lass. He’s a soft-headed fellow, that’s sure, but his heart’s as strong as his head isn’t, and not easily scared. If he’s got concerns about this here woods, then we’d best be looking out for it ourselves!” He saw May’s face grow sullen once more, and he immediately regretted his tone. The poor lass! he thought, she’s no more desire to be here than I, and she’s had nothing but harsh words for and from her parents about this for days! And there I go a-sharping it with her, when she’s been so good to stick by her old Grandpa. Fordogrim softened his expression and smiled at May reassuringly, “There, there, lass – you’re a stout girl with a stout heart and I’ve no doubt there’s nothing on this Road that will cause you worry or grief, so don’t listen to the worries of an old hobbit like me. It’s not what’s ahead that’s on your mind, but what’s behind, so to speak. I know you’re not happy about this, and, well, you know my views…so if you want to talk about how you’re feeling, well…I’m not going anywhere.” Fordogrim laughed. “Well, I am a-going somewhere, which is both the point and the problem, ennit? What I means to say, lass, is my ear’s as ready to listen as your heart is ready to speak.”

[Memory of Trees]

May Chubb

May had not at all been expecting that from her grandfather. For a moment she longed try and explain exactly what she was feeling, but then, she’d already done that back in Bree. It wouldn’t do anybody any good to start whining now, she supposed. May kept her eyes on the ground. “I’m alright, Grandpa,” she said with as much cheer as she could muster, but behind her long lashes tears pricked her eyes.

Her grandfather stopped, and gently cupped her chin in his hands. “Look at me, May,” he said very softly. “Are you sure you’re alright? There’s nothing you want to talk about?”

Mayflower swallowed hard before meeting Grandpa Forgo’s steady gaze. “No, I’m okay,” she replied, forcing a small smile.

He looked at her skeptically, then turned back to the road. He was silent for a long moment, then said in a tender voice she had never heard him use before, “May, you know that if you ever need anything, I’m here for you.” Then, without turning to look at her, he spurred his pony on up the road.

May watched him ride on ahead, and the tears that had refused to fall all this long while came hard and fast. “I know that, Grandpa,” she whispered. “I know.”

[Witch_Queen]

Sarah sat beside the chickens listening to their constant clucking. She thought if she stayed beside them any longer she was going to go mad. She had already decided that her conversation with the chickens earlier was something she needed to forget. Sarah thought she heard someone crying until she turned to see May in tears. She wanted to comfort her daughter, but they had grown apart since the journey began. "Even though she talked to me about us leaving earlier and how it had upset her, I know she still has a bit of anger somewheres inside her." She knew she was talking to herself but if anyone had overheard her that would have thought she was talking to the chickens. Sarah thought about how everything was back at home and how her family had gotten along. Though she often wondered why Grandpa had a dislike for her.

Sarah placed her hand over the necklace Harold had given her. She smiled and turned to see where the trail would lead them. She was ready to make camp especially since that meant she didn't have to ride beside the chickens for the rest of the day. A rest was needed even though she knew it was only a thought. "Harold!" Sarah cried, "Whats going on now?" She looked ahead and saw that the land looked beautiful to her. It no longer seemed different, only a day away from home and she was already thinking about what life would be like when the journey had ended. It will be wonderful, we can raise more chickens and perhaps maybe the family won't have as much trouble as we had so far.

She sat back and enjoyed the rest of the days journey. Sarah placed the few pieces of fallen hair back behind her ear. Everything will be better, in the end.

[Melisil]

Alora dangled her feet over the side of the wagon as they rode, she found it terribly fun going over all the bumps and jolts.

Lunch had been delicious, and surprisingly fun as a fox had first run through their picnic, spilling cider all over their clothes and food, and then there was the fact that old 'Mr. Chubb', as she had been instructed to call him, had tried to shoot the strange creature. He had missed and fallen into a large bramble of bushes. She had found this very funny, despite being scolded for laughing.

Now as she sat kicking her feet she listened to her aunt singing. It was a lovely song, she thought. She also heard her mum and dad speaking to each other. Alora both hated, and loved it when her parents did this.

She loved it because it was strangly comforting, but hated it because no matter how hard she tried, she could never hear all of what they were talking about.

[ArwenBaggins]

"Alora, stop bein' nosey," Crispin lifted his head from its comfortable position in the hay and looked at his younger sister. Seeing her not watch their parents any more, he lay back down and placed his head in the endenture of the hay he had made.

He feet dangled over the edge of the wagon and dragged in the rocky dirt. Crispin paid no heed, however; he kept his gaze to the bright sky and a smile on his face.

"Um... Crispin?" Suddenly he was jolted out of thought when a pretty young hobbit lass swung herself over the side of the cart and landed next to him. He raised an eyebrow, but she scooted closer and draped her feet from the wagon as well. "Oh... sorry," She blushed and looked away. "Mam and Papa are havin' a fight... Opal and Hob almost got run over after the break. Papa's not all concerned, but Mam! Oh, she's cryin' 'er eyes out over her "little babies bein' almost squashed"."

Crispin laughed and bit and stuck a piece of dirty hay in his mouth. "Well, if she's gettin' worked up over somethin' like that Daisy, you're gonna be spendin' a lotta time with me!" He chuckled again.

Daisy laughed slightly and blushed again, mumbling something about 'wanting to' under her breath. "Yes... well... bye," She jumped from the back of the wagon and ran into the dust.

The boy shrugged and made himself comfortable again. "Women...," He laughed plainly, listening to the sounds of adventure.

[alaklondewen]

As the longs hours of the day wore thin, the hills also became smaller and farther apart. The troop of settlers bumped along the road in their wagons or carts, some rode ponies, while others braved the journey on foot. For the last three hours the hobbits could see the great old forest looming ahead of them. The tops of the old trees were still lit, if not for long, by the waning sun, but under their boughs only shadows played. The merry voices that had once been singing of safety and joy were now silent as the travelers came slowly down the last slope. On their right, the embankments rose steadily creating the North Downs, and on the left, the great trees reached almost to the road. They were to trudge on between the two heights on a small road that to some looked like a long, dimly lit corridor that curved around the trees and out of sight.

Marcho handed the reins over to Estella so he could jog ahead a short distance to look over the area. Just ahead was a spot where the trees were back away from the road and the grass was worn thin most likely by other scouts and travelers who used the location for a campsite. It appeared someone had been there in the last day. A heap of ashes laid in the large pit dug in the center of the site. The pit was lined with a circle of large round stones.

Marcho knelt close to the ground around the fire pit. Scattered footprints were slightly muddled, but it was clear that the feet to which they belonged were shoed. With most of the day’s light gone it was difficult to be sure, but by the size and shape of the prints, Marcho guessed that two, maybe three, Big Folk had cooked and rested here. This did not surprise the hobbit because he knew of a small village of Big Folk just up the road and over a hill.

The band was approaching, so Marcho stepped in front of their path waving his arms vigorously over his head. The convoy came to a halt, and the scout directed those with wagons and carts to pull their vehicles around and form a semi-circle surrounding the clearing. This would provide them with a sort of protection from that side of the country…the forest would lend itself as a shelter from behind.

“This will be our camp for tonight.” Marcho called to the settlers. “Tonight we will build a communal fire and share and fellowship for the first time on our trip. We will need water from the small stream across the road, and we will need firewood, enough to last the night. I will not be able to carry it all myself, so I need extra arms. Who will go into the forest with me to gather the timber?”

“I’ll give a hand, Marcho.” Kalimac Whitfoot stepped over and laid his hand on his brother-in-law’s shoulder.

“You won’t catch me within twenty feet of that…queer woods!” Marcho shook his head at Fredigar, who had stepped out of the group with his arms folded across his chest.

“Alright then, anyone more courageous than our valiant Fred? We must have fire for the night will grow cold.”

“You can count me in!” In stepped Sarah Chubb who looked sideways at Fred as she strode toward Marcho. Several chuckles were heard from the crowd and Fredigar huffed back to his wagon, clearly outraged by the suggestion that this female participant was braver than he. He still did not volunteer, only mumbling to himself and kicking some rocks around in his anger.

Sarah’s husband silently joined the group along with three other stout hobbits. The scout turned toward the wood, letting the others follow close behind. The hobbits could barely see as they stepped under the eaves of the great trees. The forest was filled with an eerie silence.

[alaklondewen]

Child's descriptive/informative post regarding the forest:


Deputy Fredigar stood and stared in dismay as he watched the small band of Hobbits advancing towards the line of trees until they had completely disappeared under the grey shadows of the tangled thicket. Fredigar grimaced and turned towards Ponto Bracegirdle, a younger hobbit of a generally timid disposition when it came to any type of adventure.

Shaking his head in disapproval, the Deputy again kicked at the bracken and shook his head in disapproval. "No good will come of this.... Mark my words! The Dúnedain tell tales of this forest that would cause a reasonable man to quake."

"Are they true, do you think? The stories, I mean... For I have heard them too at the knee of my nursemaid when I was but a tiny lad."

"There is some truth in the tales. It is not only the trees themselves, although they do not help things. For it is said that in some places the great forest can actually move, twisting and tangling the pathways on which the weary traveller walks. But there are shadows on the land of other twisted things, both the men of the North and the agents of the Witch King. The great power in Angmar has battered at these hills for hundreds of years, sending out all type of hideous creatures to try and do his will. But even among the Dúnedain, things have not been well. The men of the northern kingdom sometimes fight among themselves and argue who will control the land that runs westward from the Weather Hills."

Ponto scowled to hear such a grim description of the woods into which his friends had disappeared. He turned toward Fredigar and sighed, "Let us hope then that Marcho has decided on the right thing, and all those he's taken with him will all return to camp."

Then the two Hobbits went back to their wagons, and began taking out their bedrolls and other things that they would need to set up camp that night.

***********************************************

The long shadows of evening had now settled over the land, casting a dreary pall over the small band of hobbits as they proceeded warily through the trees. Only a few slivers of moonlight shown down from the sky. Since there was no sign of any real path, the Hobbits had to cut and whack their way through the tangled brush, looking for an open glade where they would have enough room to wield an axe and gather the limbs and smaller branches that they needed for the campfire. But the trees were becoming darker and thicker the further they ventured from the road.

Regin leaned over and whispered to his wife, "Let's be glad that we have the road to travel on during the day. For, to tell the truth, if we had to make our way through these trees to reach where we are going, I think I would have turned about and run all the way back to Bree, no matter what the Whitfoots chose to do!"

At that moment a gnarled grey root popped up from nowhere in front of Regin, and sent him sprawling to the ground. As Sarah helped him up, he scowled blankly ahead and wished that he was still back home in the safety of his house in Breeland. Even the jangling coins in his pocket and the promise of more to come did little to lift his spirits when faced with the implacable wall of trees.

[Kransha]

Kalimac’s eyes narrowed once again, darting back and forth with the slightest bit of nervousness in them. He did not care for the unsubstantiated remarks made about this forest’s lurking darkness, but as he entered it with the others its imposing qualities became blatantly obvious. Kalimac’s hand inched towards his bow, which hung at his back, ready for immediate use. He knew this was the best opportunity he would get to speak with Harold away from his wife and children. He was wary, though, duly noting the presence of Harold’s wife, but the fact did not deter him. The hobbit would simply take Harold aside for a moment and tell him the idea. Surely, Harold, being a reasonable Harfoot, would agree with out a second thought and all would be well. A smile peeled over Kalimac’s face as he considered how much time he would now be able to spend with his more trivial habits. His expression changed again, reverting to his unsure frown as he glanced upward at the trees.

Night’s cloak had begun casting a shady spell on the sky. The sun drifted beneath the horizon, bathing the sky around it in a calming, if not somewhat unsettling shade of red. The rest of the great expanse was darkening and that darkness did not help Kalimac’s mood. He was soon surrounded, as everyone else was, by the gnarled and aged branches of great trees that would loom even above Big Folk. The gargantuan tree limbs seemed to be groping out at passing travelers with their malformed talons. The group began to wander more, seeming less and less like they had a set destination. Marcho was at the head of the posse, while Kalimac and Harold Chubb had drifted unnoticed to the back. This was the time and Kalimac Whitfoot knew it. He sidestepped, inching closer to the Harfoot. He leaned over and spoke through one side of his half-open mouth.

“Harold,” said the hobbit conspiratorially, nearly whispering, “I must discuss something with you.”

As he had planned, Kalimac did not give the Harfoot a chance to respond before he clamped a hand onto the other hobbit’s shoulder and stopped the two of them firmly in their tracks. Trying to avoid looking too serious, he spun to face Harold as the rest of the group slowed and began to survey the surrounding woods for necessary timber.

“I have a proposition for you,” he continued, “and I believe you will not object. I was thinking about this trip, as I’m sure you have been as well, and came upon a welcome revelation. You and I are both sound hobbits of sense and cannot be tied down with trivial things such as keeping a wary eye upon our offspring. I have figured out a solution to this problem for the two of us. Perhaps, your young ones, May and Henry, could keep the aforementioned eye on my children, Alora and Crispin. Alora and Crispin must be watched and the exercise will give May and Henry something to do in the surplus hours of this journey.”

He paused, hesitating to allow Harold some leeway to speak. Unfortunately, his tongue got the better of him and he ended up diving right back in to conversation before Harold, who looked strangely pensive, could voice his side.

“Of course, you would have to talk this over with your children and you wife. The plan is sound, though, and efficient. What do you think?” he forced a smile, looking overly pleasant as he managed to keep himself from plunging back into eternal oration somehow, keeping his lips caarefully sealed as Harold began.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim watched his son and daughter-in-law disappear into the forest with mixed emotions. What showed on his face was his open contempt for the plan of going into that queer place under any circumstances, let alone with night coming on. What did not show was the light flutter of concern that he felt in his stomach. Bebother those Bolger boys! he cursed inwardly, not for the first time. To make matters worse, nobody had even thought to ask Fordogrim if he wanted to come – meaning he had missed the opportunity to tell them all what he thought of the idea (which wasn’t much), and that they clearly considered him incapable of the journey (which he was, given the pain in his leg). Fordogrim seethed and thought of all that he would have to say to his son and that crack-brain Marcho at the first opportunity. Composing those speeches put him in something of a better humour.

Fordogrim busied himself freeing Stout from his saddle and seeing that he was tied where he could get at plenty of fresh grass. The old pony seemed tired after his day’s journey but he snickered reassuringly as Fordogrim brushed him down. “There there my old boy,” he said soothingly as he removed the bracken from Stout’s thinning mane. “I know you didn’t get much of a break from my weight today, but this here leg’s going to force me to rely on you pretty heavy for the next couple of days. If you can just carry me for that long Stout, I promise I’ll walk two days straight to give you a chance to recover yourself.” Stout looked at him as though he did not believe the old hobbit capable of walking for two days without break, but for the love of his master he kept his opinion to himself.

Fordogrim settled himself onto the ground with a groan and leaned back against the wheel of the cart. Darn fool daughter-in-law of mine, he thought going into that there jungle of a forest with that son of mine. Still, there’s something to be said for her grit in volunteering for that…I would never have known that she had it in her… He looked down from where he sat into the gathering darkness of the forest. There was an eerie silence on the land, and for the first time Fordogrim noticed that there was no birdsong in the little valley where they had stopped for the night. The first stars of the evening were just beginning to appear in the sky and the light breeze that came from the north had the hint of a bitter chill in it. Likely to be a late frost in that wind. The flowers in that side garden will be hard-pressed to make it through the night if that happens. As he thought of his little hobbit hole and of the gardens that he had lovingly tended through all those years, a sudden emptiness came over him. Fordogrim had been so caught up in his anger about the move that the sadness of it had never yet fully penetrated to his heart; but as he sat beneath the darkening sky feeling the lonely wind of the north blow through him, he realised for the first time that the only home he had ever known now lay behind him. Although the miles between him and it were few, it seemed like everything he knew was on the other side of the world already.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Despite the staunch set of Regin's shoulders, the Hobbit had been feeling queasy every since they'd stepped forward under the arching trees. There were too many tangled limbs reaching out to grab his leg and, with all the protruding roots, he found it difficult to push forward very fast. On top of all that, his temper and pride had been hurt by the tumble he'd taken a few minutes before.

So when Kalimac suggested that Regin's son and daughter voluntarily do babysitting, he was sorely tempted to turn towards his former landlord and respond with a resounding "No!". The Whitfoots had dragged him into this "adventure", tearing him away from the land he loved, and now they expected him to come forward and offer his children's services as well. It was one thing to help out when he was back in Bree and had benefitted from their land. Now he was out on the open road, one of the few Hobbits who commanded a cache of milk and eggs, and he felt he owed very little to Kalimac Whitfoot!

Plus, deep inside, there was something else nagging at Harold. Back home in Bree, his family had been happier. His dad hadn't always looked so upset and there was less fighting between May and her mother. Now it seemed that someone was always digging at someone else or giving them nasty looks. Since beginning his preparations for the journey, he had scarcely had time to speak with his daughter. And he was even more worried about Henry. The boy seemed to be off somewhere sulking in a corner and never saying a word.

Harold had a sinking feeling that somehow he'd lost a piece of his happy home, something worth more than all the pennies in the world. He blamed at least part of that loss on Kalimac Whifoot who'd helped to create the mess they were in, and he was not inclined to say "yes" to any request that the Fallohide made.

At that point another tree root managed to reach out for Harold's ankel and for the second time that evening he went sprawling on the ground. Harold stubbornly refused to take the helping hand that Whitfoot offered him, instead getting up on his own and dusting off his jacket. Just at that minute Sarah walked over to make sure he was alright.

He leaned down to his wife and whispered a few private thoughts in her ear. She looked surprised but then smiled and nodded in agreement after whispering something back. Regin faced Kalimac and spoke, "I'll be honest with you, Mr. Kalimac. You've always been a good landlord, letting us get a bit behind on the rent a few times when things were really tough. And I know you are an honest, fair man. And I do think May and henry would make very good babysitters for your children."

By this point, Kalimac was smiling broadly.

"But....." continued Harold, taking a moment or two to collect his thoughts. "We're out here in the wilds and I have to provide for my family the best I can, since there are no fields to till or gardens to tend. And, since you are so honest and fair, I'm sure you'll understand, sir......"

Kalimac looked puzzled as Harold took a deep breath and finally plunged forward. "You, see, it's only fair that my lad and lass should get paid for their work. It will be hours of toil for them that will take them away from other useful things. Sarah and I agree that the responsibility would do them good, but only if they are given a fair wage for their time and their services."

Sarah nodded at Harold, proud to see her husband making such a brave stand. Then they both turned to Kalimac awaiting his reponse.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Kransha: Kalimac's reply to Harold

"You, see, it's only fair that my lad and lass should get paid for their work. It will be hours of toil for them that will take them away from other useful things. Sarah and I agree that the responsibility would do them good, but only if they are given a fair wage for their time and their services."

Harold said all this with perfect and unwavering (at least the illusion of unwavering) confidence. Kalimac, even though he knew better, let his jaw drop and hang for more than a minute as he realized that, for the first time he knew of, Harold Chubb had actually insisted that he do something. He was practically floored. He shouldn’t need to pay a couple of tweens who’s family was in his employment! It was outrageous, maddening, and utterly confusing. Kalimac came to the irritating realization that he hadn’t even considered the fact that Harold might want his children paid.

But, as much as he hated to say it, he really had his heart set on having the Chubb children watch his own. He’d told Elsa that he would get the job done and it would be a stinging embarrassment if he refused to accept their services just because they asked for a few of the many coins in his deep pockets. It had to be done, even if it bit at Kalimac Whitfoot’s pride.

“I…I…I suppose you’re right.” He said at last, his words a little slurred in his bewilderment, “I will indeed pay your children if they are responsible and dutiful in their new line of work.”

He almost instinctively patted his vest pocket that contained most of his immediate funds. He didn’t mind parting with it, but he almost felt as if he was throwing it away. ‘Nonsense!’ he thought, ‘They want to be paid and I will pay them fairly and justly. Let it not be said that Kalimac Whitfoot is some money-hoarding miser, for it has just been proven that that is not the case. It's probably better to pay them. They’ll put more effort into it if they have a monetary reward to look forward to.’

[Child of the 7th Age]

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.

[ArwenBaggins]

Crispin bent over and picked up another stick for kendling. Suddenly, the twigs he had in his arms burst loose and fell scattered across his feet and the ground. "Curse it all!" He muttered slightly under his breath, hunching down to scoop the brush back into his arms.

Presently, he felt a slight tapping on his shoulder. In his current angry mood, he snapped: "Whadya want?" He shrunk back a bit and blushed to find the pretty but slightly odd Daisy Bolger standing behind him. "Oh, h'lo Daisy!"

"Um.. h'lo Crispin," was all she said, bending her head to conceal rosy cheeks. She pretended to be looking at something on the ground and started kicking her feet around in the grass.

He stopped thinking about the sticks. He adjusted them in his hands and smiled carefully at her. "So... how are ya today?" Was the first thing that came to mind. 'Does she stalk me or something? She's everywhere I go! Good Lord... women!' He cleared his throat and pushed the thought from his mind.

Daisy mumbled 'um' a few times and then started stuttering: "I... um... good... you...?" The red on her cheeks extended fully up to her bright crimson ears.

Crispin cocked an eyebrow and nodded. "Fine. So... wanna climb a tree or somethin'? I'm supposed to be gathering sticks 'n stuff, but Mama don' gotta know," He dropped his sticks into an unneat pile at his feet.

The girl sighed a bit and said under her breath but just loud enough for Crispin to hear: "Um... I... sure... I... like... um... you... Crispin," She bit her lip and winced as if she had been struck by a terrifying blow.

The boy stopped dead in his tracks. "What? Did ya just say ya like me?" He inclined his head slightly toward her.

"Yuh... um... yes...?" She fake-coughed and looked up at him. Without saying anything else, she kissed his cheek. Now, her whole face and neck was red. Turning on her heel, she ran back toward the campsite.

Crispin was awestruck. He blinked and then rubbed his eyes; his cheeks were now red. 'Wow. I know I like adventures, but... wow.' He blinked one more time and bent to pick up the sticks.

Gathering up the wood again, he straightened his back more than usual and walked to camp. He thought it was best to keep this all a secret for now.

[Arestevana]

"Crispin, darling, Did you get any kindling? Oh, I thought I told you to spit that out!" Elsa made a grab for the piece of hay dangling from her son's mouth. He avoided her in an irritant manner, and she kept a sharp eye on the lad until she was certain he had followed her instruction, despite tripping over things as she unpacked supplies from the wagon.

"Crispin!" She called again, seeing him begin to edge toward the wagon again. "Where's your sister?" Crispin gave a careless gesture in the direction of the wagon, seemingly preoccupied. Alora poked her head out, reluctantly, probably aware that she was about to be recruited. "Come on, you two, help me get some water for everyone!" Elsa called, picking up a stack of buckets.

"Over here, Elsa!" a familiar voice called. Elsa turned and saw Peony Boffin and several of her children, also carrying buckets. "The stream is just over that hill, come with us!" Peony said warmly. Elsa smiled gratefully and followed them, aware that Alora and Crispin had run off and might prove troublesome to find. She was suddenly glad that she had agreed to allow May and Henry to watch them.

When the reached the stream, the Boffin children gleefully ran out into the water to fill the buckets. Elsa watched them, trying to recall their names. Nick and Daisy? Or is it Rose? Oh, dear, I never can remember. When the buckets were full, the Boffin girl helped Elsa carry her buckets back to the Whitfoot's wagon, while the lad, Nick, It must be Nick. Surely Bolco is older than that? helped his mother with her load.

When they had returned to the wagons, Elsa smiled gratefully at her helper. "Thank you so much--" she hesitated. "Rose. Thank you." The girl smiled shyly, and Elsa realized that even if her name was Daisy, the lass would never say so; she was too polite. The girl ran off, presumably back to the Boffin's wagon, and Elsa picked up several full buckets to take to the neighboring wagons. She made sure to deliver a bucket to Ruby Hornblower, who seemed exhausted as she tried to watch her children and set up camp at the same time.

Returning to the Whitfoot's wagon, Elsa cleared a fire circle, wondering vacantly when Kalimac and the others would return, and if they'd had any luck finding wood. Just then another of the Boffin children ran by, a girl slightly younger than those who had been with their mother at the stream. Her golden hair and cheerful laughter only made Elsa sigh. That is Rose. She thought. The other lass is Daisy. Oh, dear.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim awoke with a start and knew that it had been more than an hour since he’d fallen asleep with thoughts of his home in his heart and nothing in his stomach. Looking about he could see the younger hobbits gathering up twigs to use for kindling and bringing water from the creek. Some families, having tired of waiting for the cooking fires they’d been promised by the Bolger boys, had decided to make do with what they could by way of cold leftovers from their Luncheon. Fordogrim dragged himself to his feet and looked about for his family, but Henry and May were nowhere to be seen and Sarah and Harold had not returned from the forest yet. For the first time since setting out on the journey Fordogrim felt a real sense of misgiving.

The night had now come on full but it was a clear night with a bright moon so the old hobbit had no trouble finding his heavy cloak amongst the baggage. Pulling it about him against the chill he stepped away from the cart to look for someone who might have news of the scouting party. Stout snickered at him as he stepped away, but Fordogrim only patted the pony’s neck distractedly. Stout’s snicker turned into a nervous whinny and he stamped his feet twice. The pain in Fordogrim’s leg was lessened, but his old joints were terribly stiff from their fall, followed by a long day in the saddle. He had to lean fairly heavily on his cane as he walked through the ring of carts. He moved past most of the families with only a curt greeting, the return to which was inevitably just as brusque. There were some few hobbits in the convoy who remembered that it was Fordogrim who had earned them their Luncheon, and their gratitude for that made them somewhat friendlier, but most of the people here were of generations much younger than his, and Fordogrim hardly knew any of them.

After a few minutes of looking he found Fredigar polishing off the last of the mushroom pie that he’d brought for his Luncheon. Fordogrim was disappointed not to have found Fred earlier, when there might still have been a chance to enjoy some of it. To Fordogrim’s delight, however, Fredigar smiled to see his father’s old friend and offered him some cold sausage and cheese. The elderly hobbit gratefully accepted it and set to. From somewhere, Fredigar produced a small cask of beer, and to Fordogrim’s eternal delight he poured him out a small cup. “Well Fredigar my lad,” Fordogrim said around a mouthful of sausage, “What’s happened to that fool son of mine and his wife and all those that followed Marcho into that?” and he nodded his head toward the woods.

Fredigar looked at the dark trees, now black and ominous in the night. “I don’t rightfully know Mr. Chubb, but it’s an awful stretch of time they’ve been gone. Do you think they’re having trouble finding wood?”

“In there?” Fordogrim asked. “Not likely. An old forest like that’s bound to have scaddles of old wood laying about. The only folk as would have picked it up before us would have more sense than to have come out here in the first place.” Fredigar had to work this out a bit for himself, and Fordogim used the interval it afforded to drain (and refill) his cup of beer. “No,” he continued when he saw that the younger hobbit had worked his previous sentence through, “they’re more than likely lost.” He tried to keep the note of worry in his voice as slight as possible. “Mark my words, Fredigar, we’ll be a-having to organise a rescue party for those folks as went in there, before this night is much more advanced. You’ll see.” At this prospect Fredigar looked truly alarmed and he stared at the forest with open fear. Fordogrim stood up. “Well, come on my lad. I don’t mind telling you that my old legs will need a bit of help if I’m going to get in there.”

“In there?” Fredigar gasped, pointing to nearest trees as though they were the teeth in a dragon’s mouth.

“Don’t you worry, lad, I’ve more sense in me than to go traipsing through there looking for to get lost. I just want to have a smell of it, if you catch my meaning.” Fredigar looked frightened still, but his good heart could not bear to see the elderly hobbit stagger into even the first reaches of the forest without help, so he took Fordogrim’s arm and helped him down the slight slope to the beginning of the forest.

They only took a few steps into the darkness of the trees, but it was like entering a rich and miserly man’s house uninvited. Trees closed in around them and strange sounds ran through the earth beneath them. Even though they were only a few dozen feet from their camp, they suddenly felt as though they were isolated and alone in a far and dangerous place. Fredigar involuntarily took a step backward, but Fordogrim stood his ground to face the odd will of the forest. He closed his eyes – which made little difference for the blackness beneath the trees was almost complete – and breathed deep the smell. It was the smell of ancient memory and age beyond he reckoning even of someone as old as Fordogrim. It was not often that Fordogrim felt at a loss, but this was one of those moments; he was not wanted in this place, and the very air carried to him an alien feeling of empty loss.

He opened his eyes and turned to Fredigar, now standing just beside him pale and wide-eyed. Fordogrim’s voice fell into the forest like a pebble into the ocean. “By all that’s decent and good, Fredigar, where has that Marcho taken my Harold and Sarah?”

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold

Harold was pleasantly surprised that Kalimac agreed to pay his children for their babysitting services. In Kalimac’s voice, however, Harold had detected a baffled and confused tone, as if he was shocked that he had even asked for such a thing. The Whitfoots had never paid the Chubbs for their work before, but on the road the situation seemed to be a little different. Still, Harold had not expected Kalimac to cave in so quickly and had been prepared to defend his position. Oh, won’t Henry and May be delighted, he thought. I must remind them that they must take this responsibility seriously. Wouldn’t want them to cheat Kalimac out of his money by doing a poor job, although he has so much already I doubt it would make a difference.

Despite the dreariness of the forest and and his own uneasiness in being there, he felt his spirits rise a bit and tossed a comment over his shoulder in the direction of his wife.

“Isn’t that great honey,” he said. “We must tell the children about their new job when we get back to camp. Sarah dear?”

At that instant, Harold glanced around and suddenly realized his wife was nowhere to be seen. And he heard Marcho's voice boom out that Sarah Chubb was missing. Whatever small optomism he'd felt before quickly sunk into the ground. Harold's jaw dropped open. I don’t understand.... she was just behind me. Where could she have gone?

The grey shadows had lengthened over the trees and made it difficult to see anything. But Harold was determined not to panic. Yet he'd always had a feeling that there was something hidden in the forest, something eerie and mysterious. Harold shuddered to think that some evil thing might have taken his lovely wife. He anxiously prayed that she was not hurt or distressed. I’m going to find her if I have to turn these woods upside down.

After informing Marcho he was going off on his own to find her and would return later, Harold slowly began to make his way through the tangled branches and bracken keenly searching for any sign of his wife, all the while calling her name. He scoured every tree, leaf, and twig and looked behind every bolder just in case she lay injured somewhere, unable to call out for help. After a while, he began to get frantic and intensified his searching tenfold. While crawling through the dense underbrush, he found that many burs stuck to his shirt and pants. A tree branch ripped his sleeve, but he paid it no attention and kept going. His love was much more important than his clothes; they were not very expensive anyway. To Harold it seemed as if he had been walking forever, but he had been walking in circles and had only gone a short distance.

Suddenly, in the pale reflection of a sliver of moonlight, he glimpsed a set of muddy footprints going out from behind a clump of bushes. He followed them to a half hidden glade where he thought he heard a woman humming. He saw a cloudy silhouette before him: a figure that looked a little familiar. As he got closer, he saw his wife Sarah bending down. Groping along the ground, she was filling her outer skirt with mushrooms


She turned to him beaming, “Why hello, Harold, I stopped to pick these scrumptious mushrooms for our family. They smelled so good. I was tempted to eat them all myself but I decided to wait till we get back. I thought I'd catch up with the party in a minute, since I could still hear your voices carrying over from the next glade. In fact, I thought you all might have returned this way by now. Just where have you been?”

At first, Harold didn't know whether to laugh or be angry. Now that he listened, he could hear his wife was right. The voices of the Hobbits could be heard just a little ways from them.

Quite relieved, he finally replied, “Looking for you.....I went in circles. I thought you were lost and far away. I searched for a long time and could not find you. I was frantic: I thought something awful had happened. This forest is an dark secret place, and I do not like it one bit. Please don’t ever sneak off without telling me, especially in a spot like this. Oh, I’m so relived that you’re safe. Marcho has found a large tree that we can use for firewood, so we can leave here quickly. Let’s go dear. First to Marcho and then safely home to our family in one piece.”

Sarah looked over and smiled, apologizing and explaining that she really knew just where she was going, but thanking her husband for all his efforts The two of them left the glade together, hand-in-hand, heading back towards Marcho and then towards the encampment.

[Kransha]

Kalimac, the flickering shadows of the grim forest cast over him, waddled over to the fallen tree as Harold scurried off to find his wife. She was certainly elusive; a thought that made Kalimac Whitfoot thankful that Elsa wasn’t that way. He would have quite a time trying to keep track of her and a wary eye on the children. He figured she wouldn’t get out of hand on the trip and was finally realizing that it was worth paying the Chubb children for watching his own, considering how beneficial it would be.

Holding an aged ax he’d been giving to chop the timber firmly in both hands, Kalimac made his way over the gnarled and twisting roots that protruded at random from dark crenellations in the earth. It was most unsettling to see the branches and scraggly roots practically grabbing at him as he hopped out of their reach. He pulled back his ax slightly and began carefully slashing away at the smaller protrusions of unnecessary branch with the half-dulled weapon.

It wasn’t until he actually tried to move in another direction that he realized that something had an amazingly strong hold on his foot. He looked down slowly, his ears again twitching, and pulled his trapped leg. The leg didn’t budge and the thing holding it merely tightened its stranglehold. He looked down fully, lowering the ax, and his widened eyes fell upon a thick, tangled root that had wrapped itself around his ankle and was actually pulling on it very gently, barely noticeable to the hobbit. Kalimac pulled again, but the root pulled back. He tried once more to the same effect. Other roots seemed to be creeping along the cold ground towards him, like vicious wolves stalking their prey as they circled around his defenseless lower left limb.

“Umm…Marcho…” said Kalimac, trying not to move anymore, “You may not be able to answer this, but, why exactly is the root of tree pulling on my foot?” The hobbit spoke with surprising pleasantness, but he was barely able to avoid visibly quaking as the conspiratorial trees looked down on him.

[alaklondewen]

Marcho was hurriedly removing the upper branches of the fallen willow, while Kalimac worked on the roots. The uneasiness he felt grew as the surrounding trees seemed to maliciously lean in over the hobbits. The unintelligible whispering became louder as the hobbits disassembled the fallen brother of these trees. Marcho wanted to cry out against them…it wasn’t their doing that this ancient willow had fallen, but he kept his mouth closed and concentrated on the task at hand. The quicker he worked that sooner they could get out of this eerie forest. He hoped the Chubbs would return shortly because he did not want to be forced to look for them, and he certainly could not return to camp without them. An image of Harold’s father rose in Marcho’s mind, and he shuddered.

The scout was almost relieved when Kalimac broke the silence, calling to him in an unexpectedly amiable tone. “You may not be able to answer this, but, why exactly is the root of tree pulling on my foot?”

Marcho laid is axe down and looked curiously toward his brother-in-law. “What?” He wasn’t sure he had heard correctly, but when his gaze fell on Kalimac’s leg, his eyes widened and he stood momentarily in shock. Kalimac tried to pull his leg from the vice, but the roots visibly wrapped tighter around his foot. Marcho lunged forward and knelt next to the attacking roots. He slid his knife from its sheath and slowly moved toward his brother-in-law’s ankle. The roots sensed their danger and squeezed until Kalimac winced, “Don’t cut them…they’re angry, and they’ll break my foot.”

Marcho lowered the weapon and thought a moment, then raised the knife again. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I am going to save my friend.” He yelled toward the towering limbs that swayed and groped over his head. Then, he gently wedged the knife between the roots and Kalimac’s ankle. After rocking the knife slightly for a minute or two, the tree began to lessen its grip.

As soon as an opportunity arose, Kalimac pulled his foot free. “Thank you, Marcho…I will never forget…”

“Don’t worry about it…Let’s just get out of here.”

At the same time, the Chubbs came into the clearing looking pleased to be back with the group. Sarah had her apron folded as though she was carrying something, but Marcho didn’t ask what. Instead he motioned for them to take a load of the timber that he and Kalimac had cut to be taken to the camp.

~*~*~

The hobbits had walked for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes when they began to hear the sounds of the settlers moving about and talking. They had been gone longer than Marcho had expected to be, and his burden lightened with the thought of being out from the closeness of the forest.

As they moved closer, something moved in the shadows and caught the scout’s eye. “Hello there!” He called hoping it was just one of the settlers.

“Hello yourself!” Came the reply from a mouth Marcho could identify even in the dark.

“Father?!” Harold exclaimed in surprise. “What are doing out here?” The hobbit and his wife hurried to where the old hobbit stood. “And Fredigar?”

The old hobbit complained loudly to his son, but Marcho only heard the words “senseless” and “no good hobbit” thrown his way. Shaking his head in slight amusement, the scout passed them by and entered the circle of settlers, where he quickly worked to get the fire made while ignoring the groaning and inquiries of the tired and grouchy travelers.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim nearly jumped out of his skin when Marcho called out to him from the dark of the forest. “Hello yourself!” he cried out as crossly as he could to cover the relief that he felt at their return.

“Father?!” Harold exclaimed in surprise. “What are doing out here?” His son and daughter-in-law hurried to where the old hobbit stood. “And Fredigar?” Fred opened his mouth to reply but Fordogrim had recovered from his shock sufficiently to interrupt the younger hobbit with his own response. Placing his feet apart and adopting the pose he assumed when dispensing solid advice that he knows nobody wants, he began his prepared speech to Harold.

“Senseless. Yes, it’s what I said – senseless! Running about in a forest such as this with naught to see by but the glow of your own eyeballs. No good hobbit that had the sense his mother gave him would have done what you did this night, and I’ll not hear of either of you a-taking off like that again! What business you had abandoning your children to follow around after that crack-brain Marcho Bolger I’ll never know, but I expect there’s much about this journey I’ll never understand and you’ll never feel like explaining to me. And as for you, young Master Bolger. . .” but Marcho had taken the opportunity to slink away to his own camp. Fordogrim, not to be deterred, returned to his attention to Harold and Sarah. “Well, what’s over is done. You’re back and you’re unharmed so that’ll be an end of it. . .you are unharmed aren’t you?” He tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the last vestiges of concern out of his voice.

Harold smiled and, taking his old father’s arm in his own, helped him walk out of the forest. “We’re both fine Father. We did have a bit of an adventure with Sarah getting separated from us and all, but as you said, ‘what’s over is done.’”

“Separated!” Fordogrim gasped. “What? In there?” He turned to Sarah. “You were alone in there?” Sarah assured Fordogrim that it had been far from an alarming experience, and to prove it she showed him the mushrooms that she had collected. Fordogrim was stunned. To be alone in that forest at night, and to have thought of nothing more than collecting mushrooms – such grit was well beyond what he had thought he could expect of her. He turned his attention to Harold again, saying. “Well you are a wooden-headed ninny if ever I’ve known one! What kind of a husband goes and loses his wife in a place such as that?” Harold made a non-committal noise and directed his father’s steps toward their camp.

After a moment’s pause Fordogrim turned to Sarah and asked if she had any plans for the mushrooms. Sarah looked at him sideways and said slowly, “No, Father Chubb, I haven’t – not exactly. Why?”

“Well,” Fordogrim said as casually as he could, “I know that my Harold likes a mushroom pie, and I’ll not deny as I’m fond on them as well. I do realise that it would be hard to make one out here without a proper stove and all, but if you think you could manage it, I. . .well, Harold I mean. . .would be grateful. Wouldn’t you son?”

Harold nodded greedily.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold had winced when his father had called him a “wooden headed ninny”. Since a bickering match with Fordogrim for the rest of the trip seemed very unappealing, he swallowed his pride and listened to his father’s rant. Still, Harold's irritation abated considerably when Fordogrim asked Sarah to make a mushroom pie. Harold savored in his mind a picture of his wife’s famous mushroom pie, and felt his stomach groan. Eager to appease his hunger, he nodded greedily when Fordogrim inquired if he would appreciate one. Maybe it was a good thing that Sarah wandered off after all.

“ Grandpa Fordo, I have a piece of very exciting news that I would like the whole family to hear.”

Harold turned in the direction of the children and called them over.

He waited for the children to join the rest of the family. Beaming, Harold addressed the entire family, “Everyone, I have a very exciting piece of news. While in the forest, Sarah gathered a bunch of mushrooms and now she will be able to make her delicious mushroom pie. But, I also have another piece of news, perhaps even more interesting. On our trip to get firewood, Kalimac asked me if May and Henry wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on his two little ones. I told him that you would not watch his children unless he paid you, which is only the fair thing. Why should the children have to do work if they do not get something for their services?"

" May, Henry, I want you to know that I do not expect you to take this task lightly. If you accept his offer, you must be diligent and dedicated and take your work seriously. Unless I feel that you have done a good job, I will tell Kalimac to keep his money. I am giving you this opportunity because I feel that you are responsible enough to handle it; please do not disappoint me. You are growing up and it is time that you start taking your work seriously. So what do you say? Are you willing to make the effort and earn your pay?"