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?"

[Witch_Queen]

While Harold was telling the kids about Kalimac's offer Sarah began to think about how she was going to make her famous mushroom pie when she didn't have an oven. Improvise. Sarah had already decided that she should get up the next morning and make them all some breakfast. She knew she would need to begin a fire is she wanted to make a pie before they left the campsite in the morning. She placed the mushrooms in the cart and began to gather the ingrediants together. The fire would have to be started if Sarah was to begin cooking.

Sarah looked to Grandpa Fordo. "Grandpa will you help me start the fire if I am to begin that mushroom pie for you and your son." A pie did sound good to her right now. She look to see that the children were smiling. Perhaps maybe they would take some responsibility so she wouldn't have to worry about them so much. In the back of her mind Sarah was going over all the ingrediants she would need and what she was going to do about breakfast the next morning.

[alaklondewen]

When their father had proposed babysitting, Henry and May had quickly agreed. Henry had often helped his father on the Whitfoot land, but the boy had never been paid before…for anything. The prospect of having real money, that wasn’t just a couple of pennies from his father for being good, seemed surreal to the young hobbit.

The money had been all Henry was worried about the night before, but now that the morning sun was rising, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to spend his time watching those Whitfoot kids. He had wanted to do some exploring the next time they stopped…maybe into the forest a bit. The night before he’d heard some queer tales about that place, and he wanted to check it out for himself. But not with those Whitfoots around…I won’t be able to do anything! He glanced over toward Alora and Crispin. The lass was kind of cute, but he bet that Crispin would keep him busy. I bet I have to entertain that kid everywhere we go. Henry sighed and pulled his knees up to his chin. This was going to be a long trip.

Sitting with his back against the wagon’s wheel, he turned his attention to his mother who was hurrying around the fire making breakfast. He could still taste the mushroom pie from the night before, and he was certainly looking forward to what she would prepare this morning. His mother had always been a great cook and knew how to make due with what little provisions they had.

Looking around the circle, Henry saw that most of the travelers were up, packing, and preparing small breakfasts for their families. May, however, was still stretched out sleeping in her makeshift bed. Henry was very curious as to what she thought of all this babysitting talk. Deciding he didn’t want to wait any longer for her to awaken (and because it would give his stomach a break from watching his mother cook), the young hobbit decided May a slept long enough. Pulling himself up slowly with the weight of the wagon, he tiptoed to where May laid slumbering peacefully. Henry, after searching the ground a moment, saw his Grandpa’s cane leaning against the back of the wagon. Grandpa Fordo was sitting in the back of the cart, apparently dozing. The young hobbit quietly snatched his grandfather’s cane and proceeded to poke his sister in the ribs. At first he prodded gently, but when May did not respond, Henry jabbed her avidly until she cried out.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Henry smiled over his sister and quickly placed the cane behind his back.

[ArwenBaggins]

"Baby-sat! Why, I'm almost thirteen! I don' need ta be watched by somebody else! Tha CHUBBS 'specially! Lord...," Crispin plucked the straw from his mouth and stopped away from his father.


Finding a nearby dead treestump, Crispin fell effortlessly on it and put his curly head into his hands. Strands of hair flew into his face obstructing his view. He angrily pushed them away, scratching his face in the process. "Stupid... this is all stupid. Papa probably thinks I'll get lost when I'm explorin' or somethin'. I'm notta baby like Alora," He gritted his teeth and picked up a rock from beneath his feet.

A squirrel sitting in the tree overhead laughed gaily, clutching the walnut in its hands. "Stupid bloody beast," He slugged the rock at the animal and made it scamper away.

[Memory of Trees]

May was wandering through their cozy little house back in Bree, letting the comfortable feeling of home seep into her bones. Her parents had decided to turn back after all! May sighed dreamily. Everything was exactly as it should be – the furniture, the warm, clean smell of the cottage, even the shadows below the windows were just how she had known them all her life. May stepped out the door and into the radiant sunshine. She knelt down my the little flower garden by the front of the house, and cupped the blossom of a smiling daffodil in her hands, drawing it close to her eager face. May breathed in deep the fragrant aroma of… mushrooms? And suddenly the pretty little flower turned into stick and poked her hard in the side. May yelped in surprise as the stick hit her again, harder!

May jerked awake, her fingers closing instinctively around the stick. Both eyes popped open, and she was staring into Henry’s cheeky face. “Oh, good,” he said, smiling impishly. “You’re awake!”

May sat up on the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Yes, I’m awake, little brother,” May said, her voice dripping with syrupy sarcasm. “And you, my friend, are going to pay very, very dearly for it!” She jerked the cane away from him and leapt from the bed with a wild cry.

Henry jumped back and took off running with May in hot pursuit. “Get back here, you little rogue!” she yelled playfully, brandishing the stick with a dramatically comic air. Henry gave a whoop and bounded off the back of the wagon. May was right on his heels, roaring outrageous threats as she chased him around the wagon.

As they rounded the other side of the wagon, Henry ran smack into the sleeping Grandpa Fordo, or Forgo, as May called him. May crashed headlong into her brother, and they both tumbled breathlessly to the ground. “Eh? What’s this?” said Fordo crankily. “What’re you doing with my cane, May? Here, give that back!” Their grandfather snatched the gnarled stick away from his disheveled granddaughter. “Now what’s this all about?” he demanded, squinting fiercely at the two of them.

May tried to explain between fits of giggles. “Well, you see… haha… Henry… oh hoho… he was chasing me… whooohahaha… or rather I… haha… was chasing him… hehehe… but he… poked me… up!” At this point both May and Henry dissolved in a helpless laughter so contagious that even Grandpa Forgo couldn’t resist a small smile.

“Ah, well,” he said finally. “I suppose you two had best run along. But no more of this dashing about like headless chickens! Leave an old man to his rest.”

“Okay, Grandpa,” May replied, hauling Henry to his feet. “Sorry abou that!” As they walked away from the old man, May felt something cool and hard against her leg. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out the coins her father had given her a few days ago. “Oh, yeah!” She grabbed Henry’s arm, pulling him to a stop. “I keep forgetting. Here, half’s yours!”

Henry’s eyes grew wide as three bright copper coins dropped into his outstretched palm. “Whoa! Where’d you get these, May?”

“Silly! It’s not like I stole them or anything. Daddy gave them to me. Said we could spend them however we like. I plan to save mine, along with whatever I earn babysitting those Whitfoot children.”

“You’re going to do it, then?” Henry asked.

“You know I am - I already told Daddy that. You were there!”

Henry grinned. “I know. I just wasn’t sure if you just said yes, or if you really meant yes, if you know what I mean.” He paused and frowned up at her. “I surprised that you would want to work for the Whitfoots, I guess.”

May took the time to inspect her shoe before answering. “I suppose I don’t, not really. But it’s okay to work for them, because they’re paying us, so it’s not as if we’re their servants or anything.” She stopped, her eyes scanning the horizon. “Besides, I need the money,” she added abruptly, eyes still on the sky.

“For what?” Henry said incredulously.

“Oh, I’ve got a few plans,” May replied vaguely, and set off at a brisk walk again. “So, when do you think we’ll be going into that big old forest ?” she inquired, changing the subject.

[alaklondewen]

Marcho shivered as he slowly finished off his warmed bread and eggs. The morning’s dew still laced the surface of the wagon, and he could feel the dampness seeping through his trousers as he stretched out in the back. He was taking his time this morning, because he knew he needed to go back into the forest to gather the rest of the timber. Even in the bright morning sunlight he could feel the stray branches tugging at his clothes. He shivered again. He had purposefully not told anyone what happened in there, with the exception of his dear wife. The travelers would be camping next to the forest for the next three nights, and he did not need them more worried and anxious than they already were. No, he would pretend nothing unusual took place, but he would not go under those boughs after dark again, not by his own volition anyway.

The scout watched the settlers begin their morning preparations. Several small fires had been lit, and a few hobbits tried to salvage the charred kindling from the night before. Their spirits seemed to be merry with the coming of the new day. Many wives sang together as they did their chores, and the husbands tended the fires and talked of the land to come. Marcho chuckled to see Harold Chubb’s children running, one after the other. Does that girl have a cane? Marcho thought to himself and sat up to get a better look. They stopped and he saw that old Fordogrim retrieving the twisted stick. Chuckling again, the scout shook his head and lay back once more.

“Looking mighty comfortable, Brother.” Blanco stood at the end of the wagon smiling mischievously as though he’d caught his brother carrying out some surreptitious plan. Marcho just glanced at him from the corner of his eye and placed his hands behind his head in a dramatic fashion. “Come now, we need to get that wood before we set out. I’m sure you, of all hobbits, want us on the road at a decent time this morning.”

Blanco was right. Marcho normally would have already had his wagon packed and been complaining about how long the others were taking, but he wasn’t looking forward to entering the forest again. The scout sighed and mumbled something under his breath that might have sounded like his brother was right, but was too subtle to be sure. Standing up and hopping out of the wagon, Marcho grabbed his axe and followed his brother into the forest toward the fallen, ancient willow.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Ninny-headed children! Fordogrim settled himself back into his comfortable position on the cart and breathed deep the smells coming from Sarah’s cooking pans. The memory of the mushroom pie was still very much in his mind but he was looking forward to some eggs and bacon. His leg ached where Henry had crashed into him, but he found it difficult to be hard on the lad. Such a quiet fellow he mulled as he watched the young hobbit and his sister chase one another about. Takes after his father in that. And his grandmother. He quickly shied his mind away from thoughts of Prim. Every morning since she’d gone away, he had visited her grave to bid her hello and tend to the small garden that he’d planted over her. Every morning, that is, until today. He hoped that his friend Halfast would remember his promise to look in on Prim from time to time, and that he would take the opportunity to do so today.

Seizing his cane, the old hobbit pulled himself to his feet and hobbled over to Sarah. The pain in his leg was, if anything, worse than the day before, but after a night spent on the ground there wasn’t much else that he could have expected. Harold, of course, had tried to insist that Fordogrim sleep in the makeshift bed that he had contrived in the back of the cart, but the elderly hobbit had insisted on sleeping beside the fire where it would be warmer. As the stiffness in his hip refused to go away, he began to wonder if he had made the right choice after all. “Good morning to ye, Sarah,” he said as he got to the fire.

His daughter in law was busily frying the bacon but she looked up from her pan and said in a friendly tone, “And good morning to you Father Chubb. Did you sleep well last night?”

“Aye, that I did, though this old leg of mine mayhap could have got a better rest. That’s the thing about getting old, you see, your body parts sort of take on their own personalities. The whole trick is trying to keep everyone happy all at the same time, like in a family. But that can be cussedly hard at times.”

Sarah looked up at him again and smiled gently. “Yes, Father Chubb, that it can.” Fordogrim smiled back at her as best he could. He was feeling particularly well-disposed toward Sarah this morning, and not just because of the mushroom pie of the night before (which had been delicious) or the bacon this morning (which smelled almost done). Over supper, Harold and Sarah had told him the full story of their little adventure into the Forest and his surprise at what he now openly referred to as “My Sarah’s Surprising Grit” had only increased – as had his opinion of his son’s wife. He had also very much appreciated her asking him to help with the fire last night. It was the first time on this journey that he hadn’t been treated like an old invalid; in fact, as he had helped her put together the supper, it had occurred to him that among his whole family, it was only Sarah who did not treat him like an old hobbit. He wondered why he had never noticed that before…

Sarah interrupted his line of thought with a question. “Well, Father Chubb. You’ve been very quiet about our arrangement with the Whitfoots. What do you make of our May and Henry making a bit of money from looking after those children?”

Fordogrim assumed the thoughtful expression he used before pronouncing judgement, and if he noticed Sarah’s look of resignation, he pretended not to. “That’s a fine question, Sarah, and I’ll thank you for asking it of me – unlike some other folk, who never consider the opinion of an old hobbit like myself” and he glared at his son where he was working about the cart. “To be truthful, I’m not rightly sure what to think of it all. I’ve been a tenant on Whitfoot land most of my life and they’ve never given me reason to complain about ‘em. To turn around now and demand money of ‘em for something as we’d do as a favour for a friend, well, it seems not all fair, like. On the other hand, the Whitfoots have always been sharpish with their money. Old Mr Whitfoot now, he could be right tight-fisted with it, but even he could forgive a month’s late rent in a poor season if I had to ask it of him. The Young Mr Whitfoot seems to be a bit freer with the coins, but not much. I’ll bet you pennies to pebbles that if our Harold hadn’t a-thought to ask for pay, Young Mr Whitfoot would never have offered. And I’ll bet you double again that he never would a’ even thought of it himself!” The elderly hobbit fell into a reverie for a moment and his brow furrowed with thought. “I suppose, now that I think on it full, that it’s a good thing for the children to be gaining something more from this journey than a long walk away from home. And I daresay it will be quite an eye-opener for the Whitfoots to see that we Chubbs can’t be counted on to do as they think all the time!” Fordogrim planted his feet apart, and leaned heavily on his cane with both hands, indicating that he had given his Final Word On The Subject. Sarah hid the slight look of relieved amusement that played about her eyes. “At any rate,” Fordogrim said, “where’s that son of mine got to? And those children? I can tell by the smell of that there bacon that it’s ready to be eaten, and I can tell you that I’m a-ready to do the eating!”

[Kransha]

"Baby-sat! Why, I'm almost thirteen! I don' need ta be watched by somebody else! Tha CHUBBS 'specially! Lord..." roared Kalimac Whitfoot’s eldest child as soon as Kalimac had finished explaining his proposal. Kalimac was sorely tempted to correct young Crispin’s malformed grammar, but hesitated as his son turned sharply and stalked in the opposite direction before he could comment.

Kalimac, who stood almost a full head taller than his son, suddenly felt dwarfed by the boy. Disconcerting thoughts immediately began coursing through him uncomfortably as he stuttered briefly; trying to think of something he could say to make everything right. Unfortunately, Crispin was already gone. He stepped back, mumbling to himself and letting a dejected feeling creep over him as he turned carelessly from Alora, who still looked relatively content with what her father had said and unsure of why Crispin had bothered with all the yelling. The hobbit of Bree was at a loss, losing confidence in himself slowly as he lost his faith in his own mentality. He hadn’t considered the fact that Crispin would protest. He distinctly remembered planning to be firm and insistent when addressing his offspring about the matter, but all that resilience evaporated like water on a hot day. He decided that it would be best to try and forget the incident before it began to gnaw at him incessantly. Kalimac had better things to do than mull about.

He caught sight of his newest employees, walking briskly near the Chubb’s wagon. They were talking about something, but Kalimac couldn’t tell what. It was about time to make clear to them that he, Kalimac Whitfoot, was their new employer, and they would do best to not slack off in their line of work. He headed boldly towards them. “You over there,” he said angrily, still inflamed by Crispin’s passionate refusal, “Wait up a moment.” He headed forward quickly, growing more irritated as the energetic youths continued strolling along heedlessly. As he caught up, he clapped a hand haltingly on each of the young one’s shoulders to stop them long enough for him to get ahead and say what he had to say.

“I must speak to both of you about something,” he continued as he squeezed between the two children and spun nimbly to face them. He had seen May and Henry many a time in the past, but had never felt that it was important to truly know them. Now, assessing these youths could be crucial to the well-being of his children. Taking a deep and commanding breath, he went on, “You two are working for me now. Technically, you’ve always been slightly in my employment, but you will now be working for me more fervently. You’ve each been given a great responsibility, as your parents have no doubt already told you. My wife and I treasure Alora and Crispin more than anything else and if you let the slightest thing happen to them…well, let’s just say I can’t be held responsible for what happens.”

His furrowed brow lightening its load, Kalimac let his right hand, which was currently resting on Henry Chubb’s shoulder, dove swiftly into his vest pocket. He rummaged around in the cloth niche for a long and contemplative minute before letting his clenched fist slide out.

“It is customary, in many of the hobbit businesses of Bree-land, to give those in your service a taste of the rewards they will receive in the future, a sort of incentive to persevere. So…”

Kalimac extended his hand to the two Chubbs and opened. In his palm sat several small coins, dulled by rust but still giving off a slight gleam like all money seemed to do in Kalimac Whitfoot’s gaze. By monetary standards, it wasn’t very much at all, but it was probably enough to motivate Mayflower and Henry Chubb to take good and responsible care of his children. For now, he could only wait and see which one of the children took the initiative to actually take the money from his hand.

[alaklondewen]

Plans?! What plans? Henry stood dumbfounded watching his sister walk away. May had plans for her money…plans he, her own beloved brother, didn’t know about. It wasn’t fair; he wanted plans for his money. “Humph,” he muttered under his breath, and then quickly jogged after her.

“So, when do you think we’ll be going into that big old forest?” May asked over her shoulder.

“The forest? Man, oh, man do I want have a look in there, but how are we ever to get a chance with those kids around the rest of the trip.” Henry’s griped through his clenched teeth as he threw another razor sharp look toward that Crispin lad.

Henry was about to utter some more condescending remarks about the Whitfoots, when he felt a firm grip on his shoulder and was spun around to find himself face to face with Mr. Whitfoot. Henry blanched immediately assuming Mr. Whitfoot heard them talking about the forest. Oh, we’re goin’ to get it now, he thought and lowered his head almost anticipating some sort of blow.

“I must speak to both of you about something,” the Whitfoot father had a commanding voice that demanded their full attention. Henry swallowed hard and raised his eyes to looked at the older hobbit. “You two are working for me now. Technically, you’ve always been slightly in my employment, but you will now be working for me more fervently. You’ve each been given a great responsibility, as your parents have no doubt already told you. My wife and I treasure Alora and Crispin more than anything else and if you let the slightest thing happen to them…well, let’s just say I can’t be held responsible for what happens.”

Henry’s eyes widened. Now he was sure Mr. Whitfoot had heard them talk of going into the forest. At least they hadn’t done anything yet, so the older hobbit couldn’t actually accuse them of anything. Glancing quickly at his sister for support, he was surprised to see her standing so straight and meeting the Whitfoot’s gaze with her own. May had always been so strong and brave. Henry looked from one to the other and felt Mr. Whitfoot’s grip on his shoulder ease and then disappear completely. The older hobbit seemed to be searching for something in his vest. The boy watched curiously, wondering how many pockets a rich man had in his vest, until the man finally pulled his hand out.

“It is customary, in many of the hobbit businesses of Bree-land, to give those in your service a taste of the rewards they will receive in the future, a sort of incentive to persevere. So…”

Henry’s jaw dropped and his eyes grew as big as saucers when he saw the coins in the hobbit’s palm. Was Mr. Whitfoot just giving them those coins…for nothing? The boy gawked at the outstretched hand, until Mayflower elbowed him in the ribs and told him to close his mouth.

“Thank you, Mr. Whitfoot,” May quickly snatched the money without dropping a single, shiny coin. “We will do our best to take care of your darling children, Sir. Isn’t that right, Henry.”

“That’s right, Mr. Whitfoot. We won’t let nothin’ happen to them…we promise.” He added quickly nodding is head vigorously. “Thank you, Sir.” If this Whitfoot character was going to just give them money without them working for it, maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Memory of Tree's post:

May was stung by Kalimac Whitfoot’s imperious and condescending tone. ‘He shouldn’t be allowed to talk to us like that,’ she inwardly seethed. ‘If he doesn’t think we’re good enough to watch his children, why doesn’t he just come out and say so?’ But she held her tongue quite well until he had finished speaking.

“It is customary,” he concluded. “In many of the hobbit businesses of Bree-land, to give those in your service a taste of the rewards they will receive in the future, a sort of incentive to persevere. So…” Kalimac fumbled around in his vest, withdrawing several shining coins.

May was puzzled. ‘We haven’t even done anything yet, for goodness sake!’ one part of her mind cried. Although she didn’t mind working for the Whitfoots, May despised charity. But Kalimac Whitfoot didn’t seem to be acting particularly charitible – May was certain something else was up, and she didn’t like it.

May stepped back, crossing her arms and cocking her head a little. Her mind was racing back to the streetfights of the children back in Bree. There were generally two groups: the “town kids” (as they called the rich landowner’s children), and the lower class sharecropping children – the “ruggers.” No one was really sure how that nickname came about, but any poor child was thrilled to be named one.

May remembered the way it had gone back in the streets. Somebody insulted somebody else, and the maybe someone got pushed or knocked into, and before long all the kids knew that there was going to be fight and turned out to either participate or enjoy the show. But before the actual fight broke loose, there was a bit of restless silence – the quiet before the storm, maybe – where the children from both sides studied each other, sized up their enemy. This is what May was doing now.

It was a test. Of course. He was waiting to see which of them would take the coin from his outstretched palm.

So Kalimac Whitfoot stood there, extending the money to them both, waiting. Then she made up her mind. Quicker than thought May snatched the coins from his hand so lightly that he barely felt her fingertips brush his palm. Kalimac looked down at his still outstretched hand, almost surpirised to see the money gone.
“Thank you, Mister Whitfoot,” May said politely and expressionlessly. “We will do our best to take care of your darling children. Won’t we, Henry?” She couldn’t help sounding a little bitter on that last statement. Henry was still standing, gawking at Mr. Whitfoot’s red velvet vest like he expected bright copper coins to bulge from the buttonholes or fly forth from his shirt cuffs. May elbowed him hard in the ribs.

Henry blinked and closed his mouth. “That’s right, Mr. Whitfoot. We won’t let nothin’ happen to them… we promise.” He chimed in obediently. “Thank you, sir,” he added as an afterthought.

May clenched her teeth. She knew exactly what Henry was thinking. ‘He’s not doing us a favor, Henry,’ she screamed inside her head. ‘He’s not being nice, or kind, or even polite. That man is just being what he’s always been, a stingy, proud, self-concieted little pig, and nothing more.’ But of course, she said nothing of the kind out loud. “Come on Henry. We’ve need to finish what we were doing, if Mister Whitfoot is entirely finished.” She turned her back on Kalimac Whitfoot and stalked away with Henry trailing confusedly along behind her.

[Arestevana]

Elsa Whitfoot knelt by a bucket of water, happily scrubbing the breakfast dishes. It was not quite as pleasant as washing at home by the window, she reflected, and it was a little damp, but the sun was certainly cheering. When she’d finished the last dish, she dumped the dirty water in the grass and set about packing up the wagon.

Elsa saw Crispin for a moment out of the corner of her eye, but he soon disappeared behind a wagon. Kal was going to tell the children about May and Henry today. Oh, they will be so excited! Elsa forced herself to view this as a cheerful thought. They will be perfectly safe. she reminded herself. Kal knows what he’s doing.

Yes, she decided. Kalimac’s idea had been excellent. They would not be tied down looking after the children, and Alora and Crispin would be thrilled to make some new friends. It did not occur to Elsa that her children might not be pleased with the arrangement. The hobbit smiled to herself, depositing a bundle in the bed of the wagon. She wasn’t nearly so nervous about the children anymore. Why, Mr. and Mrs. Chubb had gone to collect firewood the previous evening, and May and Henry had been quite responsible while their parents were away.

Coming to the end of her tidying, Elsa happened to glance up and see May chasing Henry between the wagons. Why, she thought, What a clever game! Won’t Crispin and Alora have fun! Glancing up a moment later, she saw Kalimac talking to Henry and May. Look, his hand over his heart; no doubt telling the tweens how grateful he is. Yes, I'm right, he's shaken May's hand. Why, those children look so happy! Positively bursting with pride in such a responsibility! Elsa smiled and returned to her work.

[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.