A Land to Call Their Own RPG

[Child of the 7th Age]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ArwenBaggins]

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

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

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

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

[Witch_Queen]

Sarah turned around to see that Harold was about to punch Kalimac. As much as she wanted to see something happen to their landowner Sarah couldn't bring herself to see someone else hurt the hobbit. "Harold don't do it!" Her scream broke through the air and everything went silent for a moment. "Don't let your anger get the best of you." She walked over and began to stop the fight but quickly turned around and looked at Elsa. It was all this womans fault that Harold was angry.

Sarah changed her mind about stoping her husband. The way he defended his father only made Sarah love him even more. It wasn't everyday that she had a chance to see her husband in action. "Elsa Whitfoot... it is your fault that my Harold is about to give Kalimac a black eye. I just hope you can live with yourself after this is over with you cocky git." Sarah didn't go off on anyone at the drop of a hat. It took them insulting one of her family members.

Sarah walked over to Fordo. "Father Chubb are you ok?" She needed to calm down before she too began to take a tumble with Elsa. Sarah thought that Fordo was going to pummle Kalimac with his cane. The show would have been good to see. Sarah regreted her decision to leave her home. "Fordo you and Harold was right we shouldn't have left home. Though this fued is long over do. I still wish you hadn't of listened to me. All I do is run my mouth about how I want more." Sarah looked around to see if she could see her children. All four of the little hobbits were gone.

May and Henry are doing their job. The one we are now disputing about. For some reason it would have been best if they had decided that they didn't want to babysit for the Whitfoots. Sarah turned back to the rest of the adults. She wondered if she should make a final attempt to break them up. The fight had became more than just your normal shouting match, this time it was personal. Sarah wasn't going to let the others blame her husband for anything. After all if Kalimac had told his good-for-nothing wife perhaps this wouldn't have happened. Sarah placed her hand around her neck and noticed that her beloved necklace was gone. She wanted to break down into tears, that was the only thing she had gotten in a few years from Harold. I hope I didn't loose it.... Oh wait its in the cart. At least thats where it better be.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Uninvited guests....

Almost as one, the members of the pack veered southward towards the source of the scent, trotting swiftly along the rocky ridges of the hills until they came to the place where the strange two-leggeds had gathered in great numbers. The band approached down wind of the Hobbits. There were dozens of wagons and small campfires spread out along the side of the road. Evidently, the fools had not even bothered to post a sentry. Everyone inside the camp was paying close attention to a few of their companions who were squabbling over something, and did not hear or see what was happening just a few paces distant. Grog could glimpse a dog or two lounging about the camp but these were beasts for herding rather than guarding, and were unlikely to offer much resistence.

The youngest of the wolves gave a whine of eagerness as he saw the plump, unarmed figures going about their business, totally unaware that they were being stalked. Aisha snapped her head about and issued a stern warning growl to her brother, and then all was silent.

The moon had slipped behind a cloud and all was dark in camp. The earth was bathed in an eerie grayness. Grog's shaggy coat, and that of the other wolves, blended in perfectly with the shadows. The only thing that could be seen, even from some paces distant, were matching pairs of greedy yellow eyes blazing in the night.

Still, Grog hesitated to attack. The two-leggeds looked harmless enough, but there were too many of them. Even though he might succeed in bringing down several of his victims, other two-leggeds would run over and strike a blow to defend their kin, before they could drag the bodies away.

"Too many! Too many!" Grog muttered shaking his head. He had never seen such a large assemblage of two-leggeds in one place. Their numbers were even greater than the bands of soldiers and roving Orcs that he'd known from the North. Leaning down to Aisha, he growled a warning, "Too many to attack here! Surely one of these fools has left the site to gather firewood or hunt some game. We will slink through to the spot where the forest runs up beside the road and track down their scent."

With that the pack took off, steering around the back of the wagons on silent, padding feet. After entering the tangled thicket of trees, Grog placed his nose to the ground and trotted about in wide circles until he found the particular trail on which the four children had left the camp only a few moments before. Grog quickly sensed that these were young littermates, who probably could not defend themselves in any way. Unable to hide his pleasure at the smell of easy prey, Grog let out a howl of triumph, in which the others quickly joined. Then he turned and made his way down the trail, all the while sniffing at the ground so as not to lose the scent. The others followed behind him, their red tongues lolling out of their mouths in anticipation of the feast that was sure to follow.

[alaklondewen]

“This has gone on long enough,” Marcho groaned to his lovely wife you sat beside him on the back of their wagon. Estella’s brother had found himself in the center of what was becoming an all-out brawl, and Marcho was tired of watching their ruckus behavior. He was going to put a stop to it now, before the argument became violent. What happened in the moments following Marcho’s decision and when he actually arrived on the battle zone occurred so swiftly, it was a blur in the scout’s mind. Old Fordogrim Chubb, either intentionally or not, whacked Kalimac directly in the nose. An action that resulted in an outbreak of violence that concluded with the Chubb father sitting on Kalimac, who was about to receive a good pounding.

“That’s enough!” The scout growled and caught hold of Harold’s arm as it swung downward. Harold struggled momentarily against Marcho’s grip, but the scout was sturdy enough to be able to drag the Chubb from his brother-in-law. “Would you look at yourselves? All of you!” He was about to tell them how they were all acting like fools, when a ghastly howl was heard nearby. The scout froze in his tracks and spoke not. Kalimac started to speak, but Marcho hushed him and listened intently. The bay came from just inside the forest, not 10 yards from where they stood.

Slowly, steadily Marcho unsheathed his knife. “Wolves…” he finally whispered. Regaining his wit, he ordered the men to get their weapons out. “Estella, Elsa, Sarah. Get the kids and get them to your wagons…now.” The scout did not take his eyes from the darkness under the trees, but the command in his voice was enough to get the adults moving.

[Kransha]

The world spun mercilessly as the situation spiraled further. Kalimac, who’d fancied himself in control of the situation, found himself beneath a seething Harfoot with a pulled back fist, namely Harold Chubb. Luckily, before any further physical engagement could occur, an unseen force hauled the Harfoot of him. He remained floored, reclined on the ground in awe and bewilderment as heard the mingled voices of Sarah Chubb, followed soon after by his half-brother, Marcho Bolger himself. Kalimac looked on, seemingly immobilized by simple, outright confusion.

“Would you look at yourselves? All of you!” chided the Fallohide scout, stabilizing the spinning world.

Kalimac, looking oddly dejected, scrambled to his feet like a child caught in a brawl. He promptly began to smooth his ruffled feathers and sweep the dust and soot of earth from his fine clothing. He scowled as his composure returned, the glinting corners of his eyes openly glaring at Fordogrim Chubb. His gaze turned to an ornery looking Sarah Chubb, then his wife, then the defiant employee of his who had taken him so aback by attacking him just now. The Fallohide would’ve continued his avid defense if the scout, Marcho, hadn’t quickly hushed him. He noted that he must’ve missed something in the rustling of his ascension from the ground, since the others seemed to be looking fearfully in the direction of Marcho and the woods. He wasn’t sure what, but he feigned the same befuddlement that he saw in their wide eyes. The eerie silence was broken by Marcho’s dark whisper, “Wolves…” Kalimac didn’t respond, watching as Marcho instantly took charge.

“Estella, Elsa, Sarah. Get the kids and get them to your wagons…now” the scout said urgently. Despite the alarm in his voice and the apparent presence of foul beasts, Kalimac felt like no more could go wrong in this wretched day. As he’d been told, there is sometimes nothing one can do in a situation but grin and bear it, so the resilient Fallohide did. Though it was hard, he managed to crack a grin.

“Alright then,” Kalimac almost interrupted, still dusting himself off disdainfully, “this unhappy incident can be forgotten, I hope.” He turned, looking pleasant again, to his wife, “Elsa, get Alora and Crispin and…”

Kalimac’s eyes had just completed their full scan of the surrounding vicinity. He looked over, rotating on his heels slowly to see all, at the entire area. It was now that he realized, with a mixture of shock, confusion, and horror, that neither of his offspring where anywhere to be seen. He stood, staring out at the others with a hanging jaw for a time before words formed in his mouth.

“Elsa….where are Alora and Crispin?” he murmured, his face slated. Something else had gone wrong.

[Arestevana]

“Estella, Elsa, Sarah. Get the kids and get them to your wagons…now.” Marcho’s voice was closely echoed by Kalimac’s.
“Elsa, get Alora and Crispin and…”
Elsa did not wait for the rest of the command. The first sound of the wolves had shaken her badly. She glanced around, somewhat surprised when she did not immediately see the children. Surely they would have come running when they heard the wolves?
“Elsa….where are Alora and Crispin?” Kalimac asked quietly. Elsa’s heart leapt to her throat. “What?” she asked shakily. “They’re not… not here?” The wolves howled again, and Elsa’s hands started to tremble violently. Where are Alora and Crispin? She ran back to their wagon as quickly as she could, but the children were not anywhere nearby. As shouts echoed around the campsite, it became clear that neither the Whitfoot children nor their assigned supervisors were with the caravan.
Another howl emanated from the woods and Elsa gave a small, frightened sob. What if the wolves found Alora and Crispin before she could? She ran several hysterical circles of the campsite, calling for the children to no avail. Returning to the place where most of the others had gathered, she tried to get a grip on herself. Marcho was organizing a small group of armed adults to go into the forest. Resisting the urge to cry, Elsa hurried back over to the wagon and pulled a broom out from under the seat.
When she returned to the group, she firmly stood up to Kalimac’s protests, and ignored the hints of smiles on several faces. She was not going to allow the wolves to harm her children. I suppose I do look like an idiot; amongst all these folk with their knives and hatchets, what use is a broom? I just wish I weren’t so terrified.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim’s head was still reeling from the rapid turn of events when the chilling sound of wolves in full hunt cut his mind like ragged glass through cloth. He had, in his youth, wandered the lands to the East of Bree, and in that time he had heard such sounds on more than one lonely night. Once, in the distance and lit only by the sickly glow of a waning moon, he had seen a pack of wolves attack and tear apart a deer. For years afterward the memory had been with him as a vivid reminder of life beyond the confines of the life he knew with his people in his own homeland. This time, however, the sound was so close that he fancied he could smell death on the wolves’ very breath. All about him hobbits were turning pale and quivering at the sound, for most of them had never been beyond the hedgerows of their fields, or the safety of the city gates after dark. Marcho alone seemed unafraid of the demons in the dark, and stepped forward with his blade drawn. He ordered the families to seek shelter in their carts, for once showing the kind of hobbit sense that Fordogrim was sure had deserted the fellow before undertaking this journey.

There was a sudden commotion among the Whitfoots. He head somebody cry out that their children were missing. At almost the same moment, his Sarah uttered such a gasp that the sound of her terror tore at Fordogrim’s heart. “Harold!” she cried “May and Henry are gone! You don’t think they would have wandered off into. . .” but she was cut off by yet another bloodsoaked howl from the dark.

Harold looked about wildly, calling out for his children, but his voice fell flat and pale into the gathering night. A general hue and cry was sent round for the missing children but it quickly became apparent that they were no longer with the convoy. Marcho was the first to react, ordering all the capable adults to arm themselves and to follow him into the forest. Fordogrim whistled for Stout, and the pony stamped to him as though it were twenty years and fifty pounds ago. The pain in his leg made mounting difficult but he managed it with only one substantial grunt. Gathering up the reins in one hand and wielding his cane in the other he pointed Stout’s head toward the darkness that lay beneath the forest leaves. He had never been more scared in his life, but the thought of his beloved May somewhere in the dark with none to protect her but little Henry and those good-for-nothing Whitfoot children was more than his simple heart could bear. He was no fool, he did not think that he was a match for any wolf he might meet – but at the very least he might prove a more tempting prey than his young and energetic grandchildren.

Stout, too, was terrified, for he had spent his life carrying his elderly master to and from town, and doing little heavy labour. But such was his love for Fordogrim that he was willing to face the fangs and claws that awaited him. He snorted with all the determination of his stout heart and turned his head to the woods. But Harold stepped into their path and grabbed Stout’s bridle.

Fordogrim looked down at his son and cried out, “Son, I’ve never so much as raised my hand to you and I don’t relish the thought of a-doing it now. But if you don’t let go of my Stout, and right quickly, then as I loved your mother I swears you’ll feel the weight of my cane on your head!”

"Father! Don't be ridiculous, we'll use all the help we can get. Just please stay close to me in there!" And with that, Harold rushed to Daisy and began freeing her from the traps. As soon as the draft pony was out, Harold leaped upon her back, and together the father and son turned their mounts toward the woods.

Fordogrim urged Stout on with great spurring kicks, and as they reached the edge of the Forest he brandished his cane above his head and cried out, “I’m a-coming for you, you bloodthirsty villains!”

[Child of the 7th Age]

The wolves hot on the trail.....

Spurred on by the insistent clamoring of their stomachs, the wolves paced greedily forward with noses poised close to the ground, as their tales swept rhythmically back and forth in anticipation of the feast that was soon to follow. The trail of the two-leggeds was maddeningly fresh amid the bracken and fallen leaves, even more so than what would have been the case with Orcs or Men who customarily wore boots upon their feet. Every step Grog took brought him closer to the spot where the children had halted for a moment, sitting down on a fallen log to rest and to rearrange the few items and foodstuffs they had carried along in their small packs.

The band approached the grove on silent padding feet as Grog gave the signal to the others to spread out in a circle and crouch low in the grass so that the two-leggeds would not spy them. With his nose eagerly twitching and his ears cocked forward, he peered out above the line of grass to see who was there and assess the layout of the land. Although Grog was no expert on Hobbits, even he could guess that the four seated on the logs were not full-grown but mere cubs, easy pickings for their attack. Two were younger, two older.
He decided to go for the big ones first as the smaller cubs would likely panic and be totally unable to fight back once they'd wrestled the older ones to the ground. Just as he was about to give the signal for the others to spring, he caught another scent carried over from a nearby breeze. Some paces distant, approaching from the opposite side, he could see a solitary figure crawling along the ground, apparently another two-legger who didn't want to be seen by the four in the grove.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Grog found himself chuckling. There were two parties of stalkers, not one, intent on hunting the four two-leggeds who were utterly oblivious to the presence of either. The interloper was a large cub but Grog was confident that he could take them all down at once. Still, he was curious to see what would happen, and it would be easier to attack if all five were situated in the same secluded grove.

Sitting back on his haunches, he gave a signal to the others to hold off for a moment until they could determine just what this young cub intended to do.

[Kransha]

Kalimac watched wordlessly as Elsa scrambled around the camp, yelling fearfully for their children. He knew instinctively they were not there as he saw Elsa head back to the wagon. A mixture of fury and utter befuddlement rang like a cornucopia of incessantly chiming bells in his head as more paths were blocked up. His mind briefly flitted to reasons and conclusions, thinking about why his children were gone and what he would do when he found them, but soon enough fear and concern clouded his view as he saw his wife brandishing a broom at the woodlands ferociously. Kalimac, barely having time to think, raised his voice in protest but didn’t get a word out before Elsa stormed past him.

He knew she wouldn’t let those beasts hurt a hair on their children’s’ heads but he couldn’t let her throw her life away battling a bunch of wolves with a broomstick. Instead of cutting her off immediately, the Fallohide sprinted nimbly over to the Whitfoot wagon nearby. He literally pulled Staddle out of his conspiracy with the other pony at his side and yanked the animal free of its holdings. A second later, the hobbit had clamored onto Staddle and groped in the wagon hay for his bow. He extracted the fine, slender piece of oak and his unruly quiver before wheeling Staddle around and goading it quickly towards the woods.

The mounted Halfling quickly rounded on Elsa, blocking her path with the horse.

“Elsa, I know you want our children safe, but don’t go doing anything rash. You would do best to stay here, or at least remain near Marcho. I want both our children and you do be safe, Elsa.”

Even though he had a feeling his wife had some retort waiting, Kalimac was too concerned and, in truth, utterly terrified to listen. His firmness reinstating itself, the hobbit once again prodded Staddle towards the border of the dense thickets and underbrush that pockmarked the side of the forest. He could see Harold and Fordogrim on their mounts, which had headed out as he was speaking. His darkened eyes narrowing at the Chubb father and grandfather, he pulled himself and his Staddle in between them swiftly.

“I’m a-coming for you, you bloodthirsty villains!” said Fordogrim defiantly to the looming trees.

“Not alone, you aren’t.” said Kalimac coldly as he passed Fordogrim’s mount and swiveled around it, “This is as much my problem as it is yours, so you’ll kindly allow us other humble hobbits to participate in your little escapade.” The red-faced Halfling snapped the last words at Fordogrim, feeling the phantom sting of that cane on his nose and the fist that almost made contact with his face earlier.

[ArwenBaggins]

Crispin stopped walking and lowered himself so his sister could dismount from her piggy-back ride. He straightened his back and rubbed it like an old man, the searing pain from his little sister's weight diverging through his whole body.

He then heard a low, mournful howl from somewhere behind them. He looked to Henry for a second, but looked away again when he decided that the two older hobbits hadn't heard it and he would be the big brave one if he confronted the beast. Letting go of Alora's small hand, he picked up a small branch that was laying in a mushroom patch. He at first wanted to bend down and pick the moursels, but decided against it. Flinging the stick hand to hand, he crept toward a large hackberry bush.

Another howl was heard, this time ear-shattering and longer. Alora chirped and ran toward Crispin, grabbing his free hand and dragging him back toward May and Henry with all of her might. "Alora! Stop it!" He tugged free and started poking the bush again. Crispin jumped slightly and pushed Alora behind him when something scampered from the bush. Noticing that it was only a small gray squirrel, he wiped his forehead quickly and pretended nothing had happened. Yet another howl broke through the trees, this time closer and more menacing. He grabbed Alora's hand and pulled the girl toward the older hobbits, comforting her as best he could in his now-frightened state. Can't let'm know I'm scared, or they'll think I'm some crybaby.... He yanked his piece of straw from the pocket of his vest and shoved it back into his mouth, his ears and eyes wide as more and more howls erupted from all around them.

[Memory of Trees]

What on earth was that racket? May poked her head out of the wagon canvass, and her eyes grew round as she viewed an all-out brawl taking place not far away. Between her parents and the Whitfoots! Who would have thought? May couldn’t tell what they were fighting about, and, oddly enough, she didn’t really want to know. She had a suspicious feeling that the argument might have something to do with four shiny copper coins.

And in that moment, May realized something that had been growing on her mind ever since they had left Bree. Sure, she wanted things to change, and sure, she disliked the Whitfoots and the others like them. But she never wanted to hurt anyone. Fighting wasn’t the way to make things change.

It occurred to May to wonder where this sudden burst of tranquility had come from. Not from Grandpa Fordo, surely, and probably not her mother either, by the looks of things. She didn’t know, but I think that if Granpa Fordo could have seen her right at that moment, and heard what she was thinking, he would have said she looked exactly like her grandmother Primrose had once.

May was startled by a yell from Henry. “May, they’re coming!” he shouted, brown curls plastered to his head and eyes bright with badly concealed excitement. “I can see them coming, May,” he said again.

“Alright, I’m coming,” she huffed, hopping off the back of the wagon. There, coming towards them from across the soaked campsite, were two children – a boy about Henry’s age, and a little girl who couldn’t have been more than seven. As they came closer, May thought the scowling boy looked like trouble, but she couldn’t deny that the little girl was so cute her icy disdain began to melt a bit. Not much, but a little.

The four children stood silent for a moment, eyeing each other warily. Then the older Whitfoot announced rather sullenly, “My name is Crispin. I’m almost thirteen, and I don’t need a babysitter.” Henry’s frown deepened.

“I’m Alora,” the little girl piped up. She looked confused, and leaning close to May she whispered loudly, “Pardon, where are the babies you’re supposed to be sitting on?” Henry and Crispin howled with laughter, and May couldn’t resist a smile.

“Babysitting means we’re watching you and your brother, Alora,” she said, gently ruffling the little girls flaxen hair. Alora still looked a little puzzled, but this answer seemed to satisfy her.

May saw Henry and Crispin standing awkwardly beside each other, each stealing quick glances at one another when they thought the other wasn’t looking. She elbowed her brother, whispering through her teeth, “Say something to him, Henry.”

Henry scowled at her, but turned and said smilingly to Crispin, “Hey, Crispin, ya like to explore?” The younger boy’s eyes widened as he nodded yes. “Wanna check out the forest?”

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

Henry gave May a defient, mischevious glance, and she hissed loudly through her teeth with frustration. “What are you doing?”

“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.

May narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Where are you going, Henry?” she asked warningly.

“Just around the edge of the forest, that’s all. Come on, May…it’ll be fun.” Henry was using that wheedling tone he employed when trying to get his mother to do what he wanted. That was a bad move, because May hated it when he did that. Besides, little red flags were flying up in her mind. She kept her tone calm and polite for the Whitfoots.

“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.”

“Why can’t we ‘splore?” little Alora asked, tugging on her sleeve. “We do at home.” He had them completely won over.

“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.” He glared obstinantly at her.

May could have screamed in frustration. She had seen Henry like this a hundred times before, and she knew that nothing she could do would change his mind. The three children started off towards the woods, but they were going slowly, halting every few steps, and May knew they were waiting for her to make up her mind.

Well, she couldn’t exactly let them wander off on their own, could she? At least this way she could keep them from doing anything too stupid. Wordlessly, May stood up and took Alora’s hand from Henry. He have her a triumphant grin.

May leaned over close to her brother, whispering venomously so that only he could hear, “Yeah, I’m coming to make sure you don’t kill yourselves. But you just wait until I tell our daddy what you did, Henry Chubb. I’ll be surprised if you can sit down for a week!”

That made Henry a little nervous, but not enough to make him stop smirking. And May thought she saw him mouth as he turned his head away, “Tattletale.” She ground her teeth.

And all the while the four children were getting closer and closer to the forest.

[alaklondewen]

Ummph! All of the air in the round hobbit’s lungs was forced from his body as he thudded against the damp and unyielding forest floor. Sweeping his unruly red curls from his forehead, he managed to smear the mud, which was now caked on the palms of both of his hands, across his face and into his hair. He could feel the coolness of the wet mud seeping through is breeches. Cursing under his breath, he swore if his clothes were ruined those Chubb brats would work off their cost. “With interest,” he snarled. It was their fault he was out here tramping through the woods, unaccompanied, in the dark, and now his expensive attire was soiled. They, that Henry and Mayflower Chubb, always seemed to be having some sort of fun, and they certainly had never asked him to join them. Who did they think they were? They’re nobody, just a couple of ruggers. But he, he was a Fallohide, from a prosperous family. Why his daddy was going to run the show when they got to the new land. He’d work for his father, of course, and be above those Chubbs, as if he wasn’t already. They should be so lucky as to have him around to befriend. The only choice he had was to follow them on this little escapade through the forest and demand he be allowed to join once he caught up to them. They couldn’t refuse…not with his reputation.

Pushing his weight up with his arms, he tried to get up from the ground, but immediately tripped again and landed in the same place. It was as if the trees themselves were tripping him. They’d better not try to hurt me, he thought. Daddy, would just hire some Big Folk to cut them trees down. They’d be sorry then.

Crawling along as quickly and soundlessly as he could was proving to be a rather difficult task. Every once in a while, his knees would slip and his belly would drag on the floor, but he could hear their voices just ahead, so he kept on creeping up as best he could. The element of surprise would surely seal the deal. He’d have them where he wanted, and then he'd spring out from behind a tree. The tween chuckled to himself.

Then, from the shadows beyond his prey, a series of blood-curdling howls froze the hobbit in his tracks. He could feel the hair rise on his toes. Darting his eyes to and fro, he saw nothing but shadows within shadows. As he contemplated his next course of action, sweat began to bead along his forehead and his heart seemed to be beating in his throat. Sheer panic overcame him, and he leapt to his feet and stumbled through the trees yelping as he went. “Help! Help! Henry, May! Help!” As he tottered into the small grove where the young hobbits were resting, four shocked faces turned to him wide-eyed.

“Why, Adelard Proudfoot, what is the matter with you and why are you making all that noise?” Mayflower Chubb stood and immediately confronted the hobbit.

Adelard stopped short, realizing his utter foolishness, and tried to regain his composure. Placing his hands on his hips, he straightened his face and stuck his short nose in the air. “I knew you’d be scared of those wolves out there, and I knew you’d be scared of me too if I came runnin’ through here. And you were too, I know it!” Yup, they wouldn’t think he was the one that was afraid now. Yet May tipped her head to one side and looked at him disapprovingly. That May, she sure is pretty…for a rugger anyway.

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

ArwenBaggins' post for Crispin:


“An’ who are you?” Crispin narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow toward the newcomer. Anyone who was going to come and barge in on what was going to be his chance to save everyone needed to be set straight.

The new hobbit took his eyes off May for a second and straightened his coat, trying to indicate his conceited authority. “I am Adelard Proudfoot,” He looked over to Crispin and frowned; Crispin could have sworn he saw and heard a snarl.

Tightening his grip on the stick he held white-knuckled, another unnerving howl was emitted from the dark wood around them. Ruffling Alora’s hair and giving off a fake smile, he held his sister’s hand as if it was the only thing in the world to hold on too. Don’ let’m know I’m scared. I’m a Whitfoot… we don’ get scared in the woods! He cleared his throat and cast a swift glance to Adelard, huffing angrily at the new hobbit that seemed to be competition.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold watched as Grandpa Fordo raised his cane valiantly over his head and issued a challenge to the wolves lurking in the forest. Although he did not say so aloud, Harold completely agreed with his father’s sentiments. The Harfoot was not an aggressive Hobbit by nature, except when the safety of his children was in jeopardy. His family was the most important thing that he had, and he was not going to sit idle while wolves gobbled up May and Henry. Those scoundrels had better flee while they can, thought Harold, before I get to them and make them feel sorry.

Astride Daisy, Harold rode towards the dismal forest. He gritted his teeth in frustration to hear Kalimac’s sardonic reply to the passionate challenge of Grandpa Fordo. Harold hardly regarded this as an “escapade”, as Kalimac had so coolly put it. As Kalimac passed Fordo who was riding on Stout, Harold thought he saw the Fallohide stick his nose high into the air

How can he let old disputes impede our progress when our children’s lives are at stake? Maybe he should put his pride away for a moment and concentrate on finding our young ones!

Now, more than ever, Harold hoped that May and Henry were doing their job. When he’d told them that they’d be responsible for the Whitfoot children he never imagined that something like this would happen. They’re good lads and lasses; they’ll be fine, Harold told himself. He sincerely hoped that the four children were the only ones trapped in the forest.

Reaching into his pocket, Harold fingered his trusty sling as well as a few rocks that he had gathered by the road. In Bree, he had been quite the expert with it, using the weapon to pick off crows from Kalimac’s vegetable patch even from a great distance. Somehow Harold figured that these animals would be more difficult to subdue than a mere witless crow. He had also draped his scythe over his shoulder suspended from a rope, the one he used to cut grain in the fields back home. Back then, he couldn’t have imagined using it to fight for the lives of his children, nor did he ever want to be asked to do so again.

As the Hobbits proceeded onward, Harold became anxiously aware of the dark trees looming above. The forest was a quilt of shadow and mystery and seemed mysteriously frightening, perhaps even more so than normal because of the terrifying ordeal that lay ahead of him. But Harold suppressed his fear with anger, which flowed like a river through him. Those wolves will not lay a single paw on any of the children, vowed Harold. I may not be the strongest Hobbit, but I certainly am the most determined you are ever likely to meet. With a fervor, Harold entered the gloomy wood, his father riding beside him. For once in his life, Harold reflected, he and his father saw things exactly the same.

[Memory of Trees]

May could sense a growing air of unease the deeper into the forest they got. A continual stream of complaints were running through her head. This is stupid, Henry. It's wet, it's cold, it's creepy. You don't have to prove to them you're tough. This is stupid. But she didn't say it out loud - something stopped her. This is Henry's way of showing he's better than them, she thought. I have my way, he has his. He needs to impress them. So she kept her mouth shut.

May was surprised how much darker it actually was in the forest, and she wasn't pleased by it. She was not scared, but all her instincts were screaming that this was wrong, wrong, wrong, this shouldn't be happening, we shouldn't be doing this.

And then the howles began. Murderous, blood-curdling howls, and although Mayflower had never before heard a wolf, she knew that's what it must be. But as of yet, she still wasn't frightened.

May turned to see Crispin and Alora running to catch up. What was she doing? She was supposed to be watching them! "Stay with the group," she snapped as they reached her. Crispin looked scared, and so did Alora.

Another howl, closer this time. Alora whimpered and buried her head in her brother's shirt. "Henry, stop," she said firmly, taking the little hobbit's hand. "We're going to take a rest, and then we are turning right around and going straight back to the camp. Do you hear me, Henry?" Her brother agreed - he didn't look too eager to press forward himself.

They sat down in a small clearing and rested their backs against the wide trees. To her surprise, Alora strayed a little from her brother's side to lean against May's welcome shoulder, and she didn't push her away. She wouldn't have, not in a million years.

Was someone crying? May glanced down at Alora, but her face was dry. Crispin? Henry? And then a fat young hobbit charged into the clearing, bellowing at the top of his lungs, "Help! Help! Henry, May! Help!"

May lept to her feet, brandishing a stick wildly, then dropping it as she realized who it was. "Why, Adelard Proudfoot, what is the matter with you and why are you making all that noise?" she said, throwing her hands on her hips.

Adelard stopped short, realizing his utter foolishness, and tried to regain his composure. Placing his hands on his hips, he straightened his face and stuck his short nose in the air. “I knew you’d be scared of those wolves out there, and I knew you’d be scared of me too if I came runnin’ through here. And you were too, I know it!”

May tipped her head to one side and looked at him disapprovingly. She disliked Adelard, and what's more she was convinced that he had had a crush on her for the past year. He was fat, disagreeable, always mean to Henry, and a general snob to anyone he found "below him." She frowned.

"Well, you found us now, and we seem to be in much better condition than you are at the moment," she said calmly. "What do you intend to do now, Master Adelard?"

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

Melisil's post:

All around her, Alora heard frightning noises. She had never heard things like this before, but they scared her. Long howlings. Crispin, who was currently beside Alora, was frightened too. This added to her fear.

May and Henry told them that they were going to sit down for a moment, then start back home. Alora agreed to this idea gladly.

The group had only been seated a moment, when a hobbit that Alora didn't know of appeared before them. He startled her, as he had come in to the clearing yelling and shouting like an angry baboon! May seemed to know the Hobbit though, so Alora calmed down, hoping that they would start for camp again soon.

[alaklondewen]

Once the realization that the four children were missing settled on the hobbits, panic broke out among the settlers. Marcho, having dealt with intense situations before, knew that if they did not form an organized party, the crisis would only get worse. It was too late for the fathers, and grandfather, of the lost children. To Marcho’s dismay, the three mounted their ponies and rode off into the forest despite the scout’s loud protests. The children’s safety was the most important goal, and the trio of riders were putting themselves in unnecessary danger. Their behavior was downright foolish. The Whitfoot and Chubb wives had nearly made the same mistake. Marcho caught them running after their husbands, and physically stopped their progression. These women would have been in even more trouble than their male counterparts. One of them had even armed herself with a broom. No, Marcho would not allow them to be apart of this.

“Elsa, Sarah, I know you’re worried sick, but there is nothing you can do.” The scout glanced at Elsa’s broom that she gripped tightly. “Go back to your wagons…no, better yet, go to my wagon. Estella is there and she will be armed.” Marcho knew his bow and quiver were nestled just behind the seat, and Estella was trained to use it at need.

Turning his back on them and assuming they would do as he commanded, Marcho, with help from his brother and Fredigar Headstrong, began gathering every eligible male to go into the forest. They would be stronger with a greater number, and since he was unsure how many wolves were near, he did not want to take any chances. He only hoped the beasts had not surrounded the camp.

Once the hobbit men were approximately seventy strong, Marcho gave the order and they moved toward the eaves of the woods. The hobbit band might have made the soldiers of Big Folk chuckle if they had seen the Halflings marching with their short knives. Some were fortunate to have long knives or short swords, but many carried sling shots and farming tools. They were not as trained as the Big Folk or the armies of old, but they were strong in their hearts. Moving forward with formidable determination, these hobbits were not coming returning without those children, even if they had to fight with all they had.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The hobbits’ headlong rush into the forest was severely stayed the moment they passed under the trees. All three ponies shied away from the trees, and the branches that had before seemed high enough to let them pass beneath lowered and waved in their faces, catching and scratching at their eyes and mouths. Fordogrim lashed out against the forest with his cane, batting the branches away from him, but the low whispering in the leaves came back to him like hissing laughter. Soon, Stout and Daisy had slowed to a walk, and even Kalimac’s thoroughbred was forced to stumble with the work ponies through the roots. With the initial rush of terror and ferocity gone, a cold and tingling fear settled on them all as they realised what they were doing: before them lay the Forest and in it were Wolves. They were only three against that. But also in the Forest were their children. Fear might have dogged their very steps, but not one of them even considered turning back.

After the initial volley of howls an eerie silence had fallen on the Forest. Not knowing which way to go, the three hobbits headed more or less in the direction of the last sounds they had heard. The further they went, the harder it was to move in a straight line, as the trees seemed to crowd them about, forcing them always to their right and back toward the edge of the Forest. Fordogrim lashed out with his cane against the trunk of a large oak, crying out, “We want nothing to do with you! We’re only in here a-trying to save our little ones!” but the oak tree only shivered with a treey kind of rage and the woods crowded in about them more closely than before.

Harold spoke quietly, his voice coming from the darkness to Fordogrim like the pale cry of a phantom. “Father, perhaps we should try not to upset anything in here and simply look for the children.” Fordogrim nodded; he knew his son could not see him, but he also knew that a lack of reply on his part would be taken by Harold as assent.

They pressed on for a few more minutes but it quickly became apparent that they were lost. Worse, they no longer had any idea of which way their children lay, and which way lay their danger. They tried crying out the names of the children, but the leaves stifled their voices and their calls fell meaningless and cold to the forest floor. Without a word passing between them, they stopped dead and the trees pulled in around them like the woody bars of a prison. “Well,” Fordogrim began bitterly, “what are we to do now?” He felt old in that moment, old and stupid and useless. He knew that if he had not charged into the woods ahead of the others, his son probably would have taken the time to organise something more useful, and that ridiculous Whitfoot would not have felt compelled to do them both one better and ride in after them. What was I thinking? Better to have stayed behind with the women and children and let them’s that are able-bodied have come in here.

It was, surprisingly enough (to Fordogrim at least) Kalimac who came up with a solution. Rather than crying out the names of his son and daughter, he tilted back his head and let out a terrifyingly good imitation of a wolf’s howl. It rose into the treetops about them and scattered through the boughs, raising the very hackles on Fordogrim’s neck. As the sound echoed off into the woods, the elderly hobbit looked at the Whitfoot and angrily demanded, “Just why in the name of sense did you go and do something like that for?” But Fordogrim was immediately given his answer in the form of answering calls coming from somewhere to their left, and slightly behind them. Wheeling their mounts, the three hobbits charged into the woods once more and made for the sounds of the wolves, which were now coming almost continuously. Soon, however, they had changed into the unmistakable growls and whines of animals on the hunt.

In a state of blind white panic, the hobbits pushed on through the trees until without warning they emerged into a small clearing that was the scene of their greatest nightmares. Standing in the middle of the clearing were four large and hungry-looking wolves. As Fordogrim, Harold and Kalimac entered the clearing, the wolves stopped and looked toward them. The largest growled at the others in their wolf-tongue and the three nearest turned and, snarling, began to advance on them, while the remaining monster brought its belly close to the ground and slunk off into the forest in search of its prey.

[Kransha]

They had sallied forth, a motley enough trio considering they were currently at odds. Kalimac kept shooting venomous glares at both the Chubbs, which were quickly and promptly returned by them. Though that rivalry kept them off guard, they soon turned their attention to the vile symphony of noises that was issuing from the woodland depths. The trees and roots on the ground, which Kalimac was so familiar with, became a hardship as well. It was harder now to navigate towards the sound, but Kalimac knew a way. His natural knowledge might come in handy just now, even though he was unused to the territory and the surroundings. He managed, after some searching, to execute a well-done wolf call, to the general surprise and confusion of the two Chubbs. Luckily, his bizarre action was explained before he had to speak, and the trio set off again…right into the clearing that contained the predators, their prey.

Instantly as Kalimac’s eyes caught sight of the murderous, fiendish wolves who would dare to assault his children, the short but firm oaken bow strung around his arm was whipped out fully and leveled at one of the coiled up beasts who was about to spring. Usually, better judgment would’ve had him aiming at one of the vile creatures edging ominously towards him, but he was too filled with this furious energy to even notice them. A narrow shaft was instantly plucked from the compact quiver that was dangling nonchalantly just behind his right leg and lay that arrow bolt sternly on his closed fist which gripped the bow's handle. His hobbit eyes narrowed at the beasts as he aimed precisely.

“Get away from our children, you foul creatures!” commanded Kalimac in his biggest voice, which, incidentally wasn’t very big at all. Kalimac was a good hunter as were most Fallohides, but he could not recall being openly threatened by murderous wolves. Suddenly, as soon as it had sprung up, his newfound strength wilted. His rigid arm wavered, his stomach jumped, and a distinct gulp could be heard as his grip on the fine bow began to weaken and tremble as the gentlehobbit stared down the length of his quivering arrow at the voracious looks on those wolf muzzles and the evil, utterly fiendish glint in their eyes.

In retrospect, it is never a good idea to take out a bow when trembling; it makes for very bad aim and stamina. This was the fact that ran, over and over, through Kalimac’s mind as he realized that he’d just let go of the arrow. The shaft slid from his bow, whistled through the air, and thudded into the wooded earth right beside one of the snarling beast. No, not a good idea at all.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Grog snarled and twisted his body to the side as a fiendish arrow came biting into the ground no more than half a foot away. Rage welled up inside his head as he turned to face the annoying two-leggeds. The pack had just slunk out of the depths of the thicket to begin their assault on the cubs when the three ponies had come trampling through and forced them to turn about.

"Regroup and attack!" Grog imperilously commanded. "I will deal with the cubs. You three go after the others. The two-legged's bow can do little close at hand. Forget the riders and harry the ponies. Come in under their feet."

With that, Grog turned and swiftly made for the nearby glade where the five children were trapped. He glimpsed back once and saw Aisha charging the larger cart pony with a savage look of determination etched on her face. Each of the pack chose an intended target, slashing and biting furiously at the legs of the horses. Darting in and out while skillfully avoiding the hooves, they snapped at the hind and forelegs. The two-leggeds were busy defending themselves and, for the moment at least, had no hope of breaking through to the glade where their children were.

The cart pony squeeled in terror, with ears flattened against her head as Aisha leapt up and aimed for Daisy's rear, barely missing by an inch. Totally unprepared for the noise and tumult, Daisy reared up on her hind legs with Harold clinging to her back. The female wolf charged again, this time attacking from the side. Her eyes wide with fear, the pony bucked and lashed out with two hind legs, landing a glancing blow on Aisha's ribs. At that instant, Harold lost his seat and went spinning to the ground. His pony whirled around and sprinted furiously out of the woods in the direction where Marcho's band was coming.

Aisha stood her ground in front of the two-legged, a leering grin of triumph spreading over her face as she prepared to spring. But before she could lurch forward, the grin suddenly faded. She saw her victim quickly stoop and pick up something that had fallen to the ground. In a split instant, the two-legged was brandishing not a weapon, but something that could do just as much harm. It was a tool Aisha had seen before whenever she raided the farms outside Bree to steal hens and goats: a short wooden shaft with a long sharp blade at one end........

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

Grog speedily approached the forest grove where the five children had gathered, barking and howling as he went. For one split instant, he stopped and sat on his haunches some paces distant, trying to choose which cub he should pull down first. He greedily stared at the children and then loped onward, his eyes gleaming cold and bright from out of the dark night shadows.

Then, very quickly, everything happened. Catching the loud noises that were coming from the the grove where their fathers were fighting, the two-legged cubs veered around in horror and caught sight of the gleeming eyes that were spying at them out of the bushes, gradually approaching closer to the place where they were standing. Now that his advantage of secrecy was gone, Grog quickly decided on a course of action. Charging through the bracken, howling and snarling, he headed straight towards his first chosen victim: the fat hobbit who had just arrived.

[Regin Hardhammer]

In a state of panic, Harold watched as his beloved pony Daisy sprinted back toward camp. A ferocious wolf glared at him intently, with a ravenous grin on its gnarled face. The other two beasts, wild and battle-scared, attacked Grandpa Fordo and Kalimac. Although Harold tried to be attentive, the wolves had still managed to ambush them and force them to retreat. He desperately thought of the children and prayed that the wolves had not harmed them yet.

“Get out of my way,” Harold yelled at the wolf, “I’ve got to get to my children.” No beast was going to stop him from saving poor May and Henry. The wolf crouched and prepared to lunge at Harold. Before it could spring, Harold hastily grabbed his scythe, which had fallen to the ground. He lashed out with it at the savage creature. Harold watched the animal recoil, with a look of astonishment that such a little creature could defend itself.

Suddenly, a mighty paw slammed into Harold’s leg. Sharp claws ripped through Harold’s worn pants and grazed his tan skin. He let out a piercing cry as pain hit like lightening and surged through his body. Blood trickled out from the edge of the gash and dripped onto the shady forest floor that was covered in layers of leaves. Harold stumbled, but caught himself before tumbling to the ground, and swung his scythe with even greater force at his attacker. The blade grazed the wolf’s ear, making a small notch, as the wolf sprang back. Harold himself was quite surprised that he had managed to land a blow to the beast. Although he had used his scythe many times before, he had never tried to attack anything with it. The Hobbit was not very proficient with weapons and had no experience with them. If I knew how to fight well, I would be able to beat these wolves and rescue my children.

Harold began to tire of swinging his weapon, and he feared that the wolf would soon close in on him. His strokes grew steadily shorter. He looked about despairingly, searching for any sign of rescue. Kalimac, riding on Staddle, had managed to subdue the wolf attacking him for a moment. He rode towards Harold and hesitated for a moment before offering his hand. Harold grasped Kalimac’s outstretched arm and swung himself onto the pony. Harold felt very relieved, but the wolves moved in on the two Hobbits and resumed their attack.

[Arestevana]

Elsa stared after Kalimac’s retreating back in disbelief. He wants me to stay behind? Kal, you’re mad! Our children are lost and you want me to stay behind!? There was only one acceptable reaction. Elsa tightened her grip on the broom and ran after her husband.

After only a few steps, Elsa was breathing hard. The three ponies had already reached the forest’s edge. Sarah Chubb ran past Elsa, who realized that the other woman was much stronger than she. Elsa sped up, determined that Sarah should not reach the forest first. Soon both ladies were forced to halt as Marcho headed them off just short of the forest’s edge.

“Elsa, Sarah, I know you’re worried sick, but there is nothing you can do.” He told them. . “Go back to your wagons…no, better yet, go to my wagon. Estella is there and she will be armed.” But I am armed! Elsa wanted to shout. Here was a harder decision, though. Could she disobey both her husband and the appointed leader of their group?

Obediently, Elsa turned around and headed toward the wagon. She could hear Sarah close behind. Marcho left, apparently satisfied that they were following his instructions. Elsa turned to face Mrs. Chubb. “I apologize for today’s argument, and anything offensive that I said.” She mumbled, not meeting Sarah’s eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my children are lost in the woods.” She turned away, not waiting for an answer, and began running toward the forest again.

“Whoa, Elsa.” Sarah called, easily catching up. “It’s not just your children that’s lost, it’s May and Henry too. I’m coming” Elsa did not respond; already she was panting. She was not sure whether her apology had been accepted, but she was grateful for the company.

Elsa’s appreciation for Sarah’s companionship increased tenfold when they entered the forest. She struggled through the underbrush, batting at vines and branches with her broom. The ponies should have left a path easy to follow, but their trail seemed to vanish after several yards. Elsa glanced around helplessly, reluctant to ask for Sarah’s guidance.

Suddenly a low howl rippled from the woods just ahead of the women. Elsa whimpered and clutched her broom. A chorus of howling erupted from further in. Sarah plunged into the bushes ahead, moving toward the fierce howling with admirable determination. Elsa followed with considerable reluctance. After several frightening moments of blind racing, Elsa knew that she was well and truly lost. She caught up to Sarah, who had paused briefly, and voiced a troublesome question. “Which way now?”

Sarah was kept from answering by a thunderous crashing in the brush. A cart pony burst from the foliage in a wild dash. Sarah let out a cry and made a grab for the animal, but it evaded her and continued in it’s mad flight from the forest. Trying to still her pounding heart, Elsa noticed with detached puzzlement that Sarah was once again tearing through the forest at an alarming speed. The thought of being left behind frightened Elsa more than the sudden realization that Sarah’s path, like the ponies, seemed to be vanishing quickly.

Elsa followed as quickly as she could, trying to imagine the purpose behind Sarah’s sudden haste. Branches, roots, and other obstacles were proffered by the forest with unrelenting generosity, and it became increasingly difficult for Elsa to think and run at the same time. It had something to do with the pony… That was the Chubb’s pony, Elsa thought, tripping over a log. She loosened her broom from the grip of a vine for what seemed the hundredth time.

The Chubb’s pony, so Harold must have been riding it… It was too clear even for Elsa to miss. The image of the riderless pony came back to her mind with the chilling realization. Something must have happened to Harold. Even though Elsa did not consider Mr. Chubb a friend, the thought of the usually cheerful hobbit lying dead or gravely wounded in this hostile forest disturbed her terribly. Harold was armed. If something has happened to him, what of Alora and Crispin? What if we’re too late?

[alaklondewen]

Adelard’s period of slight adoration of Mayflower Chubb fell quickly short when the sounds of shouting and struggles caught his attention. Spinning on his heals, a gasp escape his throat when he met the gaze of a great wolf that was positioned just outside the circle of the grove. Before the young hobbits could react, the beast leapt forward aiming for the horrified Adelard. The weight of the hefty animal knocked the hobbit to the ground, but it was unable to rip at the victim’s vulnerable throat because Adelard forced his forearm over his head and managed to lodge it between the jaws of the massive wolf.

As the two struggled, the other youngsters stood with mouths gaping unsure of what they could possible do to aid in their fellow hobbit. It was at this point that young Henry remembered the flint he had placed in his pocket after he had helped with the bonfire earlier that evening. Working as quickly as he could move, Henry pulled out the flint and proceeded to strike the pieces together over a dried, leafy branch that lied next to the log upon which they took their rest. May seemed to instantly understand her brother’s intent and grabbed another branch.

The produced sparks quickly took hold of the parched leaves and soon flames licked upwards generating a blaze of light that startled the wolf long enough to loosen Adelard’s bleeding arm. The young prey cried out as the teeth pulled from his skin, and he was able to kick the beast’s belly. At the same time, Henry and May, with branches ablaze, swung their weapons toward the wolf. A flaming leaf flew from Henry’s bough and landed directly between the raging wolf’s ears, causing it to cry out in pain and recoil. Adelard took the opportunity to roll out from under the beast, protecting his injury with his other arm.

The great wolf recuperated quickly and lowered himself over his haunches, ready to attack again, when a great ruckus was heard coming through the trees……….

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Stout whinnied in terror as the great she-wolf loped toward them, her tongue hanging out between yellowed teeth, her eyes ablaze with a terrible hunger. Fordogrim just had time to realise that neither Harold nor Kalimac would be able to help him when the wolf was beneath Stout, slashing at his faithful pony’s flanks. Stout screamed with pain as one paw raked its way through the flesh of his belly, and rearing, he spun about. Fordogrim gripped the saddle with his free hand and tried to hit the wolf with the only weapon he had – his cane – but the knotted wood only cut through the air as he flailed about uselessly. Again, the wolf lunged at the pony and Stout turned about, Fordogrim thought to run away, but his old friend’s heart was apparently made of sterner stuff. As the wolf made for them, Stout lashed out with a hind leg, neatly catching the monster on the side of her shaggy head.

The wolf staggered back and fell against a tree, yelping and spitting in anger. But she soon righted herself, and lowered her belly to the ground. Now, the thrill of the hunt was gone from her eyes, and there was only a blind hatred. She glared at Stout and Fordogrim with the look of a beast intent upon destruction and rapine. Fordogrim knew that all thoughts of food were now gone from her mind; all she wanted was to kill, and to feel the blood of her prey course over her teeth. She took her time in this attack, circling around the slower moving pony, whose own movements were beginning to slow down from the pain of his wound. The wolf soon got behind them both and immediately sprang. Fordogrim turned in his saddle and lashed out with his cane. “Get away you mongrel!” he cried, sure that it was the last thing he would ever say.

Whether the hobbit or the wolf was more surprised by what happened next would be hard to say, for despite the dark and the sudden murderous speed of the beast, and the staggering gait of the pony, and Fordogrim’s failing eyesight, his cane somehow found the top of the wolf’s head. With a sound like that of a stone falling onto pavements, the wolf’s head was driven downward by the knotted wood of the cane. At that very moment, Stout had kicked out his legs in one last desperate attempt to leap forward and save his master, and as the wolf’s head went down it met the pony's hooves on the way up. There was another sound, this time, like a small door slamming shut as the wolf’s lower jaw was driven upward into her skull. She let out a howl of the purest agony as her sharp teeth cut through her tongue, and she fell to the earth splitting blood and trying to see through the welter of stars that swam before her vision.

Fordogrim wasted no time to gloat over his lucky victory. Looking about he saw Harold and Kalimac mounted upon the Whitfoot’s thoroughbred, facing the other two wolves. Spurring Stout toward them he pulled up at their side, brandishing his cane above his head and letting fly with what he hoped sounded like a fearsome cry of defiance. “Me and my Stout have handled one of these monsters! Let’s deal with these last two curs and send them back to the mother as whelped them!”

[Memory of Trees]

Adelard never had a chance to answer her question. He turned as if to speak to her, and then everything began to happen so fast that May could only watch in horror. A massive, grey-furred animal leapt snarling from the darkened woods and knocked him to the ground, sinking its great teeth into his pudgy arm. She screamed in shock as blood squirted from the wound, splattering crimson on the ground.

Then came a cry behind her and Henry ran forward, whirling a burning branch wildly above his head and yelling at the top of his lungs. May caught on at once. Catching up the torch from Henry as he ran past her, she thrust a fallen tree branch into the fire. The dry wood crackled and burst at once into flame, sending a shower of sparks flying out through the air as she spun it out in front of her.

May didn’t go rushing forward as Henry had. She advanced slowly upon the wolf, waving her burning stick in front of her, because she knew that wolves do not often hunt alone, and she was not going to be caught unawares. May stood about four feet away before the wolf took notice of her. He lifted his great shaggy head, Adelard’s limp arm still dangling from his mouth, and stared directly into her eyes.

It was as if all time had stopped. The howling of the wolves and cries of the children and the roaring of the flame in her hand ceased to be for May, and there was only she and the wolf; all the rest of the world had faded away, was no longer important. And May thought had never seen something so proud, so beautiful in her entire life as when she stared into the eyes of that wolf, so majestic, and above all, wild.

But the evil in his eyes betrayed him, and May raised her chin and glared right back the snarling wolf, the flaming branch in her hand. She stared into the hateful eyes of the wolf, and she laughed. There May was, in the middle of the forest, surrounded by wolves and alone, and she laughed in his face. She laughed because she was not afraid. She laughed and laughed, because her name was Mayflower Chubb, and she was stronger than the wolf. May threw her head back and howled like a wolf, spinning her flame around her head, laughing wildly because she could.

Then May released the branch, and it kept on spinning right smack into the wolf, and it clung to his thick fur, and he yelped as his it caught fire. The wolf turned tail and ran howling back into the forest, trailing sparks from his coat. And time went back to normal, and May saw Henry standing and staring at her. She stopped laughing, because there was nothing funny about what she saw next.

Huge, snarling wolves were coming into the clearing from every possible angle, and now May had no stick. They were completely and hopelessly surrounded. I’m going to die, she thought numbly. All this, and now I’m going to die.

But May didn’t, for at that moment a shout came from the forest and help came crashing up to them, yelling and brandishing torches and sticks. May felt weak with relief as they immediately started in on the wolves, but had the presence of mind to check on the unmoving Adelard. She hurried to his side, and at first she was horrified by the thought that he might be dead. The boy lay still and pale, and his arm was turned a funny way. But no, he had just fainted, she realized to her relief. The arm looked broken, though.

“Oh, Adelard!” May sighed as she knelt beside him. “Why couldn’t you just stay home? Then none of this would have happened to you! Of all the vexing boys in the world…” But as she spoke poor Adelard turned and moaned feverishly, and her brow furrowed with concern. The sounds of the “battle” around her had become quieter, and she knew the wolves would soon be driven off.

Reaching forward, she took the boy’s good hand. It was hot and dirty, and she pressed it between her own cool hands. “It’ll be all right soon,” she crooned, and then fiercely, “But I hope you know, Adelard Proudfoot, that you very well could have been killed!”

[alaklondewen]

To Marcho’s relief, the great trees of the forest seemed to open and let the small army move more freely than the band had been able to the night before. The scout wondered whether their number was the reason, or if maybe the ancient trees had some sort of compassion. The latter would have been extremely unlikely, he decided. Whatever the reason he was grateful for all haste was needed, especially after the disheartening sight of Harold Chubb’s pony sprinting past them without her rider. The scout had little hope of finding the father alive, but he lead the men forward with his head up and chest out, ready to face whatever they needed to face to save those children.

The horrible cry of an injured animal came from just ahead, and then the voice of the old Fordogrim called out with force. “Let’s deal with these last two curs and send them back to the mother as whelped them!”

Marcho turned to face the hobbits that so bravely followed him and shouted with his sword raised high, “You heard him, my friends. Onward with all haste, let us send those demons off and save our fellow hobbits!” He then roared with all his might and ran through the trees. The soldiers followed his lead, hollering and crying out as though they had become possessed.

As the last of the trees fell behind them, they found the three men first. Both Harold and Kalimac were seated upon the Whitfoot pony with Fordogrim beside them…his cane raised and ready to strike. One wolf sat off to the side in some sort of daze, while two more growled and nipped at the ponies’ feet. When Marcho and the other hobbits entered the scene, the wolves back away for a startled moment. The settlers did not stop to check on the health of the three on their steeds, but charged toward the wolves with such fury that the beasts backed away from their prey and finally turned tail and ran. A few of those with bows let arrows fly…one of which grazed the rump of one of the animals, causing him to cry out and snap at his rear.

Marcho turned to Kalimac to ask about the children’s whereabouts, but before he could verbalize his question a tiny voice called, “Daddy! Daddy!” The source was little Alora running out of the nearby by glade toward her father’s pony. Her brother and the older hobbits followed quickly behind. The scout was surprised to see a fifth child, Adelard Proudfoot. No one had mentioned the boy’s disappearance at the campsite.

It was as glad a sight as any could be in that dark forest…the children and their grateful and relieved parents reunited. Marcho noticed the Proudfoot boy had blood on his clothes, and he wondered whether it belonged to Adelard or someone (or something) else. The story would be told no doubt once they all returned safely to camp.

[Melisil]

The wolves were everywhere. Or so it seemed to the young Hobbit. May and Henry had stepped forward, in front of Alora and Crispin, but it hadn't stopped the young girl from seeing how close the wolves were to them. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, her dad apeared! Both of the 'Mr. Chubb's were with him. The three men faught the wolves, with the four children watching in terror.

Again, the bushes by them shook. More wolves? But no, out of the forest there came not more wolves, but more Hobbits! Alora was able to give a small laugh at this.

Finally, the wolves were gone! Alora ran to her dad, "Daddy! Daddy!" She hugged her dad tightly, hoping that they could now go home. Alora voiced her thoughts, "Daddy, I want to go home." she whispered in his ear.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold leaned over and embraced his two children, newly freed from the ravenous beasts. Stifling back a tear, he grasped May and Henry warmly in his arms. Grandpa Fordo stuck out one of his knobby fingers and began a half-hearted tirade, “Don’t you two ever go wandering off like that in the forest again. I was so worried what was going to happen. That was the most foolish thing you two bubble brains have ever done. What are you trying to do, make your old Grandpa sick? I’m so mad that I … I…” Then Grandpa took a step back and shook his head, a look of relief clearly settling over his face. “Well, the important thing is that you’re safe. Thank goodness nothing happened.”

Harold felt exactly the way his father did. He was a bit angry with the children, but he was even more relieved that they were unharmed. “Be more careful next time,” Harold warned, “You two must learn to be more responsible. When I heard those creatures howling I thought that you were wolf dinner for sure. Speaking of dinner, I bet you two are hungry. In my rush to save you, I neglected to bring any food, but your mom and I will get you something to eat.”

Harold looked around and saw a vast number of his fellow hobbits who had journeyed out to save them. A collaboration of Harfoot, Fallohide, and Stoor hobbits armed with swords, bows, and even farm implements such as Harold’s. Boy, it was a good thing that my friends and neighbors had come to save us from those nasty beasts. Harold was not quite as optimistic as his grandfather. The three of them would not have held up against the wolves if the large group hadn’t intervened. He had never been so glad to see Marcho in his life. Harold was not at all surprised that his fellow Hobbits had risked their lives to save him, as he would have done the same thing for them.

As the Chubbs turned to leave the forest, Harold felt many things that he chose not to verbalize. Kalimac had saved him, and even if he was a bit frustrated with his employer, he still owed him a heap of gratitude. The Fallohide had arrived and assisted Harold to scramble up on the horse’s back just when his own strength was flagging.

He was also embarrassed about his child-like behavior in the scuffle he had earlier with the Whitfoots. The children’s rescue had taught him that petty arguments do not matter nearly as much as his own family’s safety or that of the other Hobbits. As soon as possible, he intended to apologize and thank Kalimac for his help. Harold would be extremely relieved to leave this awful forest behind him and continue on to their new destination.

[Arestevana]

Elsa was still wandering helplessly through the trees when she suddenly heard a great eruption of shouts nearby. There were several howls, but they seemed somehow less frightening, and she felt heartened. Suddenly there was a great cheer, and she rushed toward the sound. She burst into a small clearing and was startled to see it full of armed hobbits.

Pushing her way through the crowd, Elsa nearly wept to see her children all right. She could see Sarah across the clearing, and for a moment felt relieved that the other hobbit had made it safely there. Then she forgot all about Sarah and ran to smother Alora and Crispin with kisses. Crispin was the closest, so he soon found himself subject to a hail of apologies, reprimands, and relieved embraces.

Elsa could not seem to decide if she was more thankful for her children's safety or angered at their leaving. Soon deciding on the former, she searched for Alora, pulling Crispin with her. The lass was with her father, so Elsa dragged Crispin over and hugged all three of them at once, sobbing hysterically. She tired to put some feeling into her reprimands, but her heart wasn't in it. She could hardly put her relief into words through her tears, so she soon gave up and set her heart on having a good cry.

After a few moments of sobbing (which her family tolerated remarkably well) Elsa noticed Adelard Proudfoot standing across the clearing with blood on his shirt. She turned to her children, wiping her eyes.
"Are you hurt?" she asked. Both children denied injury, but their mother insisted on checking them over thoroughly, and promised to serve them both a hot meal and send them to bed soon afterwards when they returned to the campsite.

Elsa knew that she was likely to get a reprimand from her husband for not staying behind as soon as the children fell asleep, and she would probably get another from Marcho soon after. Still, she felt that she could feel nothing but grateful. She hugged her children again, still crying in relief.

[Witch_Queen]

"Oh good their still alive." Out of everything that could happen Sarah didn't want her husband a children to die. She knew the wolves wouldn't eat Grandpa Chubb since all the meat would be tough to eat. Sarah almost laughed at the thought of wolvess trying to tear through Grandpa Chubbs flesh and then running away from his cane. She shook her head to get the picture to leave. She ran over to her family to hug her husband and children. Never had she been so happy to see them all safe and together. Everything is better now that my children are safe.

Sarah thought she was actually going to have to use her rolling pin to defend her family but remembered that it was still back at the cart. She was in so big of a hurry that nothing could keep her away from her children. Not even Marcho could have stopped her. "I'm glad to see that your ok. Did any of you get hurt?" Sarah thought they would all say no but noticed that Harold's pants leg was ripped. "Oh Harold what happened to you leg. You didn't take a tumble again did you?" She was worried now because she had to make sure Harold was going to be ok.

Sarah needed Harold to be ok. We've got to get this fixed. Sarah didn't care about the pants all she wanted to know was if Harold was ok.The pants can be fixed but Harold can't be replaced. She wanted to cry but held it back. Her family was safe for a little while at least. Its all my fault. If we hadn't of been fighting then the children wouldn't have ran off. We need to be extra careful since they aren't all full grown yet. It doesn't matter how old they get May and Henry will always be my babies.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

My Dearest Prim,

Well I hope you won’t think the less of me for what I’m about to tell you, but there’s no way to get around what’s happened. I never lied to you when you were with me and I don’t think as it’s right to start doing so now.

I’m afraid my love that your husband has behaved like a tom-fool knotbrain. I can’t say as I didn’t have good reason, but that’s no excuse. First, I got into a bit of a tussle with young Mister Whitfoot, if you can believe it. There was a ballyhoo between our Harold and Sarah, and those Whitfoots, and I got in the middle of it, pretty quick. Well, one thing lead to another and before I knew it I had accidentally hit that Kalimac with my cane and then he came at me – and then, would you believe it? Our Harold rushed in like a bull that’s been baited too far and nearly knocked that Kalimac down the pegs he needs knocking down! I don’t mind admitting to you that I was that proud of him. And you should have seen Sarah, too, giving those Whitfoots a proper piece of her mind. I begin to think that she might be developing some sense after all.

But there’s even more. Right in the middle of all this there was a whole pack of wolves that attacked us, and the children were gone into the Forest and there was such a panic and a cry as you’ve never heard. Well, I don’t need to tell you that Harold and I were off at once to save Henry and May, and who came with us but that fool of a Whitfoot Kalimac. You see, his children are so unruly, and his wife such a delicate mother, that our Henry and May are the ones who take care of the Whitfoot little ones now – so they were all off together in the woods with those demons!

It turns out that Harold and I would have been better to think a bit before roaring off into danger, as we soon got lost, and when we did get found again we were attacked by the wolves and very nearly done in by them. I did put one of them back a step, but it was only by the luckiest of chances. Still, the others seem to think that I did something grand and old as I am, I’ve learned that when folk think well of you, that’s no time to go telling them they’re wrong.

But here I am nattering on about myself when I can hear you wanting to know about the children. May and Henry are fine – that May apparently put up quite a fight of her own; she has some grit in her. That young Adelard Proudfoot had got himself mixed up in things too, and he took a bit of a bite from a wolf, but he’ll recover. I should say here that Sarah was there too, ready to do battle with the beasts with her bare hands.

At any rate, all’s well that ends well, and things ended well indeed. It was that touching to see Harold and Sarah getting the little ones back all safe. They were so glad to see Henry and May that they didn’t take the time to give them the proper scolding, so I had to see to that. We had a nice meal back at the camp after all this so the adventure seems to be over for now. I just wish I could be sure it was the last one of this wretched trip, but I’m not so crack-brained as to think that it could be!

I hope that you are well and happy. I miss you awfully.

Your husband,

Grim

P.S. In all fairness I should say that it was young Marcho Bolger who saved us from the wolves.

[Memory of Trees]

It was all over before long. The wolves were driven off, and the sounds of the "battle" grew quieter and changed to the happy noise of reuninted families. May kneeling at Adelard's side when she heard a familiar voice call out, "May! Henry!"

"Daddy!" she cried, jumping to her feet. Harold Chubb clasped his two children in a warm embrace. May put her arms around him and buried her face in his chest, breathing in her father's warm, earthy smell. "Oh, Daddy," she whispered, and suddenly all the braveness went out of May. She began to tremble, and she felt weak and frightened.

Grandpa Fordo stood to one side, and began to scold both children half-heartedly. “Don’t you two ever go wandering off like that in the forest again," he said, shaking a knobby finger at them. "I was so worried what was going to happen. That was the most foolish thing you two bubble brains have ever done. What are you trying to do, make your old Grandpa sick? I’m so mad that I … I…” Then Grandpa took a step back and shook his head, a look of relief clearly settling over his face. “Well, the important thing is that you’re safe. Thank goodness nothing happened.”

"Oh, Grandpa," May said, laughing through her tears. She pulled away from her father and planted a kiss on the old man's cheek. "I don't think there's any chance of this happening again." Her grandpa looked both surprised and pleased.

It was now her father's turn to lecture. “Be more careful next time,” Harold warned, “You two must learn to be more responsible. When I heard those creatures howling I thought that you were wolf dinner for sure." Then his expression softened. "Speaking of dinner, I bet you two are hungry. In my rush to save you, I neglected to bring any food, but your mom and I will get you something to eat.” He took her hand and started to go back, but May stopped him.

"Wait, Daddy," she said suddenly, halting. "I forgot about Adelard!" Her father looked puzzled, and May hurried to explain. Pulling her father over to where the Proudfoot boy lay, she said,"Something has to be done about him. I think he's hurt pretty bad, Daddy. Are his parents here?"

Harod said he didn't think so, but assured his daughter that someone would see that he got back to the camp safely. Reluctantly, May left with her father. Something was bothering her. Adelard never would have come into the forest if it weren't for her and Henry, and he had been rather brave fighting the wolf. And there was something else, too. Adelard's parents hadn't come looking for him, which meant one of two things: one, that his parents had never realized he was gone, or two, that they didn't care enough to come looking for him. Maybe there's more to Adelard Proudfoot than meets the eye, she realized.

[Regin Hardhammer]

After Harold had reunited with his children, he made a point to go find his wife and let her know the injury he'd received from fighting the wolves was only a small scrape. “Don’t worry about me, " he responded with a broad grin. "I'm fit as a fiddle and ready to push on. Why don’t you fix something for May and Henry here? I bet they’re starving.”

After a hug from his wife, Harold remembered another important task that still needed to be done. He wanted to get the chore of apologizing to the Whitfoots out of the way, since he was not exactly looking forward to that. He turned to offer Sarah an explanation before continuing on his way. “As much as I'd love to eat and relax with the family, I have some pressing business with Kalimac that needs tending. After what happened with the wolves, our great hubbub with the Whitfoots looks kind of silly, and I think it’s important we put such trifling scuffles behind us. I've decided to go to Kalimac and apologize for my atrocious behavior. Even thought it could be awkward, it’s the right thing to do. Save some food for when I get back.”

Harold meandered slowly over to Kalimac’s campsite still struggling in his head to find what words to use. He discovered the Fallohide landowner in the midst of an intense conversation with Marcho. Harold hesitated for a moment; he had not planned for Marcho to hear his apology, but finally reasoned that he probably owed some explanation to both of them. Getting up his courage, Harold approached the two Hobbits, tugged on his cap, and politely interrupted, “I am so sorry to horn in on your conversation, but I did need to share something important with Kalimac. Marcho, I think you should hear this too.”

As Marcho and Kalimac looked up, Harold stared resolutely at the ground, a little reluctant to look them squarely in the face. He continued on more slowly. “I’d like to offer my humble apology for my rash actions and words in our argument. And also say thanks for your help to me when I got in trouble with the wolves. In truth, I don’t really know why I got so mad earlier. Lately, I find myself getting upset easily because of everything that’s happened on this trip. It seems I’m risking my family’s life, yet I don’t quite know why."

Harold wondered if he'd said too much and looked nervously over towards Marcho, stammering a bit. "Begging your pardon, sir. I'm sure you know best, of course. It's just that nothing's really changed for myself and the other Harfoot Hobbits. When we reach the White Downs, things won't be much different than they were back in Bree. The Fallohide landlords will still own the land, and I and the other Harfoot will work hard and fork our rents over to them. We won't even own the burrows that we live in. That's fine, I suppose. And I do get a lot of satisfaction out of seeing things grow. Only I could have done all that back in Bree without risking my children's lives"

"I’m sorry Kalimac, but no one ever asked me or my buddies whether or not we wanted to move. There we all were, sitting in the Prancing Pony, quaffing a brew, having a good time, and enjoying ourseves, just like always. Suddenly, the Pony was gone and everything had changed."

"Not that it wasn't a good idea, of course....., things being crowded and such in Bree." Harold respectfully nodded in Marcho's direction. "Still, things like that can nibble at the edge of a Hobbit's mind, and maybe that's part of the reason I got so angry earlier. In any case, I'm very sorry.”

Harold tipped his hat again and then took a step backward. He couldn't tell from the look on Kalimac's face exactly what the Fallohide was thinking, and he didn't want to prolong the situation any further. He quickly walked away, relieved to be done with it but feeling better about himself for taking responsibility for his childish actions. He wasn't so sure about the other things he'd said. He hadn't meant to reveal his inner feelings to Kalimac, but some of his complaints had just come blurting out. And the funny thing is that some of these feelings were probably as new and unexpected to Harold as they were to the people he was telling.

Quickly Harold pushed the uncomfomfortable experience to the side, and concentrated on more immediate matters. His children and wife were safe, which was the most important thing in the world. His stomach growling like a hungry wolf, Harold returned to his family's wagon and joined in the dinner, purposely saying nothing about what had just happened.

[Kransha]

The world seemed to have flown by in an instant’s span. Kalimac, looking around and blinking like an idiot, found the wolves gone and found Alora perched precariously on the pony, having jumped into his arms and almost bowled him over. Recovering quickly, the hobbit managed to hop down from the pony and hug Alora closer to him. He couldn’t even voice his relief at seeing her again unscathed, but she would’ve cut him off anyway as she whispered in his lowered ear, "Daddy, I want to go home." Kalimac didn’t respond at first, suddenly fearing the worst. He had figured that his children would sometimes protest, but Alora’s voice held a more obvious urgency and sincerity than before. All he could do was shake his head and respond with another whisper.

“Don’t worry, Alora, now that the wolves are gone everything will be alright.”

Before the conversation could continue, Elsa’s arms were wrapped awkwardly around him, Alora, and Crispin, who had apparently been with her. Her loud sobs barely served to muffle the protesting cries of the children at being hugged for over ten seconds. Kalimac’s dreading paleness warmed up slowly as a smile creased on his features. His wife began a weak berating of the three of them, but soon enough broke down into sobs again, before going back on her tirade and inspecting the children from head to toe. Being as quiet as he could about it, Kalimac Whitfoot slipped off as his wife and children headed back towards the campsite. He needed to talk to his half-brother, and found him easily supervising the communal recovery of the hobbit caravan.

“Marcho,” he said, some lingering anger in his voice, “I must know; will there be many such events that mar the course of our journey? I could put up with foxes, I could put up with murderous trees, I could even put up with such ravenous beasts as these wolves, but my family cannot handle much more.”

“There will be more hardships, Kalimac, but we will endure.” Responded Marcho almost curtly, which wasn’t like the scout, as he continued walking around and tying up all of the loose ends frayed by the cataclysmic wolf attack so recently. Still frustrated, and more so now that Marcho was not giving him his full attention, Kalimac continued more heatedly, “With all due respect, Marcho, you have not answered my question. I know you’ve put a lot of stock in this quest, but don’t be naïve about our chances.” He practically snapped back. Marcho, looking slightly frustrated with his half-brother, turned with a protesting finger raised to respond, but was cut off by the out-of-place voice of Harold Chubb, who had seemingly materialized beside the two of them. Kalimac turned, as did Marcho a moment later, to look at the fidgeting Harfoot as he began.

“I am so sorry to horn in on your conversation, but I did need to share something important with Kalimac. Marcho, I think you should hear this too.” Kalimac gave an acknowledging nod and Harold continued. The hobbit went off like an arrow strung expertly on a bow, his words flowing with amazing consideration as he proceeded to give a humble apology to Kalimac, which the hobbit pondered briefly as Harold spoke on, beginning to put his heart into his words. He addressed Marcho too, and the scout also recognized his oddly melancholy confidence in his speech. "I’m sorry Kalimac, but no one ever asked me or my buddies whether or not we wanted to move. There we all were, sitting in the Prancing Pony, quaffing a brew, having a good time, and enjoying ourseves, just like always. Suddenly, the Pony was gone and everything had changed. Not that it wasn't a good idea, of course....., things being crowded and such in Bree." Harold respectfully nodded in Marcho's direction. "Still, things like that can nibble at the edge of a Hobbit's mind, and maybe that's part of the reason I got so angry earlier. In any case, I'm very sorry.”

Tipping his hat politely and edging backward, Kalimac and Harold, Fallohide and Whitfoot, rich and poor, looked at each other keenly for what seemed like many minutes before Harold turned, with another tip of the hat, and headed back towards his own family. Kalimac stared after him, putting great consideration into the words his counterpart had just said. He’d almost expected the apology, but the rest had given Kalimac a new insight into Harold as a hobbit, a view of the Harfoot which he’d never seen before in his life. It was strangely disconcerting to know these feelings that Harold had, since he’d often found himself comparing the venerable Harfoot to some kind of slated beast of burden, devoid of any cares except for serving and pestering his employer. But now he knew there was something more. Just like he had his fears, his nervousness, his foolishness, Harold had his past that had been swept away in the winds of Bree.

“You can disregard what I said earlier, Marcho. I do believe I’ve got some thinking to do.”

With that, his mind abuzz with numerous inner conversations which Kalimac was having exclusively with himself, the hobbit of Bree turned abruptly from Marcho and headed towards the waiting arms of his family. He did have a great amount of thinking to do. He saw Harold and his kin in a new light now, even that hostile old coot, Fordogrim. It was like looking through a color-tinted window; everything looked suddenly different, and Kalimac realized who wrong he had been. He would have to consider the Harfoot's words very carefully.

[alaklondewen]

Adelard held his injured arm firmly against his body as he glared menacingly at the Chubb and Whitfoot offspring. Their parents were hugging them, showing joy in the children’s safety, while all Adelard got was a smack to the back of the head from his father for wandering into the forest and ruining his clothes. His mother showed him a bit more attention and ordered a healer to tend to his arm.

The old hobbit gently tried to pull the young hobbit’s bleeding arm away from his chest. A razor sharp pain ripped through his limb, and Adelard shoved the healer roughly away with his good arm, all the while never removing his gaze from the Chubbs. It was after all their fault he was in this mess…they should never had ventured off away from camp, enticing Adelard to find them. Bitterness filled his head as he watched May hug her father once more.

“I am afraid your arm is broken, young Master Proudfoot.” The healer’s soft voice broke through Adelard’s thoughts, and he turned his curly topped head toward the old hobbit, who continued quickly. “Good thing is…it shouldn’t need setting. I can wrap it for you now.”

Adelard just looked through the hobbit and turned back toward May. An inner struggle had begun in the young Proudfoot. He could not keep himself from gazing at the lass, admiring her from afar, but he rebuked himself at the same time for the interest in someone as lowly as a sharecropper’s daughter. His father would never stand for it. Nor will I. He told himself.

As soon as the healer finished wrapping his throbbing limb, Adelard, now hardened with resolve, marched to where the Chubb daughter stood with her family. “This is your fault, May Chubb, and don’t tell me otherwise! My arm is broken! It will be weeks before I can use it again, and…my clothes…they…they’re ruined! You’re going to pay for this.”

Adelard’s shouting was causing a bit of a scene, and soon several hobbits were gathering to watch the commotion. The Whitfoot family, which was cooking only a few feet away anyway, scooted a little closer to the Chubb camp. When the Proudfoot saw them, he turned his focus on the adults. “Do you see?! Do you see what happens when you leave your children with peasants? They think they can do anything! Anything!”

May’s father stepped forward and tried to quiet Adelard, but the young hobbit eluded his touch and spun to face May once more. “This is your fault…” Adelard spoke through his clamped teeth and pointed his finger at her. “You’re going to work for this. Get ready…you’re going to work for this.”

[alaklondewen]

Marcho Bolger

In the days that followed the wolf catastrophe the settlers seemed to be genuinely bound together. Families were helping one another with campsite chores, and the second evening after the fight, everyone pitched in to have a community meal. The ladies prepared a delicious stew from the ingredients each family contributed. Many sang songs and danced, and a barrel of ale was tapped and shared by all. Marcho even pulled out his wooden flute for a rare performance. Overnight, the males took turns, four at a time, standing guard against the surrounding darkness.

Seeing this community-centered spirit raised Marcho’s morale. Thus far, it seemed the group had run into one obstacle after another, and he knew many of his fellow hobbits held him to blame. The Fallohide questioned his decision to lead these innocent folk into the wilderness, but in his heart he knew that if they persevered they would be rewarded beyond their expectations.

Marcho had never considered that all the hobbits would not feel the reward of living in a new place, but Harold Chubb’s heart felt apology lingered in the scout’s mind. Two days Marcho mulled over the Harfoot’s words. In all honesty, the hobbit assumed arrangements would be kept between families, and that those who worked for others would still honor their appropriate contracts. Yet, how could he, as their leader, not consider the impact of pulling families from land they’ve worked without the prospect of their own land in return. He had promised this new place would provide for all of them, not just the wealthy. On the other hand, what ramifications would be brought about by letting those contracts fail? This issue certainly needed some discussion. Marcho was curious as to what the other Fallohide families would think about such a proposal, and he began considering meeting with the fathers. First, he would question his brother-in-law, since they had not discussed the Chubbs comments as of yet.

~*~*~

Third Morning after Wolves: Henry Chubb

Henry shivered under his blanket and curled up into a ball renouncing the arrival of morning. His mother saw him stirring and insisted he rise to help her with packing and breakfast. Most of the settlers were already busy about their wagons and fires, preparing for the new day. An excitement was in the air this morning. Henry had heard the adults talking the night before and they would be crossing the boundary of the new land today, although their destination lay still a few weeks away. The young hobbit was, to a degree, uncertain as to why they were not stopping once they reached their land, but he shared in the anticipation regardless of his understanding.

The Chubbs had a short breakfast and were soon piled onto the cart moving slowly down the road. Henry was pleased to be allowed to ride in the front with his father this morning, and he took advantage to ask his father all about the new land and why they weren’t stopping when they crossed the river. His father told him that they would be able to establish better trade in the White Downs opposed to the area on the other side of the forest. Henry chewed on this a while before asking with whom they would trade. His father mumbled a reply about Big Folk and Elves, and Henry wondered whether Elves liked eggs and milk enough to trade with them. The two, father and son, sat quietly in their own thoughts until Marcho stopped them for lunch.

The morning had become progressively cloudy and a strong wind was picking up. Henry had a hard time keeping his food on his plate and resorted to hunching his shoulders and surrounding his lunch with his entire body to keep it still. This method worked for the remainder of break, and then it was back on the cart for Henry.

His mother requested to sit with his father this time, so he rode in the back for a while before hopping down to walk awhile. They had been on the road for just a couple of hours since their short lunch, when the sound of the rushing water could be heard. Henry tried to get a look, but there were too many wagons in front of them to see very far ahead. This is it, he thought. This is our new land! The young hobbit was finding it difficult to keep his excitement under control.

~*~*~

Melisil’s Post: Alora Whitfoot

Alora, her family, and all the other assortments of Hobbits traveling with them had been traveling hard most of the day so far. The weather had been very windy for almost the whole of it. Just a few hours after lunch had been eaten, the crowd arrived at a river. The wind was getting pretty strong by now.

“What’s this river called, Crispin?” Alora asked.

“Dad said that it’s called the Baranduin Alora.”

“Oh, ok.” Alora said, daydreaming slightly. The wagons began to ride over the bridge; their wagon was near the front of the line. Alora hopped off, and started walking beside the wagon. Alora glanced at the water; even at the start of a storm, it was somehow beautiful. Every wave it made, every ripple it created, pulled Alora closer to it. She stood at the railing of the bridge, leaning over slightly, as to see just a bit more of the wonderful river. She leaned over a bit more, and a bit more again. She leaned through the railings. I wonder what it would be like to be a fish, swimming in the river, she thought to herself. She extended to tiptoe, peering as hard as she could into the water, watching for the fish.

All of a sudden, ‘Splash!!’ Alora’s foot had slipped, and down she fell, off the bridge, and engulfed in the strangely warm feeling water. She screamed as she fell. She screamed again as she surfaced the water. Fear began to overtake her. Alora started kicking her feet and flaying her arms. The water seemed so much less inviting now, the magic had disappeared. “Mommy!” she screamed, as she surfaced again, “Daddy!” She fell under the water again. Alora couldn’t see what anyone was doing up on the bridge. She screamed, and gasped for breath, every chance she could.

~*~*~

Marcho

Marcho heard the frightful scream behind him and pulled his wagon to a screeching halt. Leaping from his wagon, the hobbit shouted an inquiry, but no one was quite sure what had happened. Several hobbits were leaning over the rail of the bridge, and then he saw the lass bobbing in the waves…

[ArwenBaggins]

Crispin let out a slight yelp and forced the old soggy piece of straw from his mouth. He saw little Alora bobbing helplessly in the river, waves rising ever-nearer her curly head.

"Alora!" He shoved the chewing item into his pocket and climbed over the bridge. Yes, his sister was a nuisance, but he couldn't have her drown! Jumping into the water, he pushed his way toward his little sister.

He was not a champion swimmer by no means; he was barely even 'good' at swimming. Right now, however, you could not tell. Crispin flapped and kicked against the current to the hobbit lass. "Alora! Alora! I'm coming, don't worry!" He soon reached the girl, who was flailing aimlessly and sinking fast.

Throwing his arm around her, Crispin struggled toward the shore. "Crispin! I'm scared!" Alora kept muttering, fear growing in Crispin as well. The water was cold and the current was strong...

They finally were within reaching distance of shore. Crispin was about to toss Alora onto the greenish-brown grass when he felt a thick cane around his neck. "Ack!" He flew upon shore, lying coughing and hacking for a moment.

Checking to see if Alora was indeed on shore as well, his eyes fell sharply onto the old Chubb. Great! Now that old goat will get all the recognition for saving 'two young hobbits' when only ONE needed saving! He struggled up from the ground and sat, sopping, in the grass with Alora, who had crawled up next to him.

"You two shouldn't play around! Be more careful, Whitfoots!" The last word was partly sneered, but not too obviously that anyone could hear. Fordogrim hobbled back to his wagon, leaving Crispin huffing angrily next to the bridge.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim stalked away from the Whitfoot children grumblingly angry about the situation. He was glad that the children were all right, but he knew that the Whitfoots were going to blame May and Henry for the accident. Relations between the families had appeared to become better in the last couple of days as Harold had made a concerted effort to make up for the fight; even Kalimac had become somewhat more careful in his dealings with the Chubbs. Between the Whitfoot father and Fordogrim, however, there remained an icy formality – neither one of them had mentioned Kalimac’s attack on the elderly hobbit, nor the accidental assault on Kalimac’s nose with the knobbled cane…Fordogrim gripped the cane tightly in his gnarled hands. The same cane as just saved his fool-headed children he reflected bitterly.

Fordogrim’s mood had been getting steadily worse since the wolf attack and he would have been hard-pressed to explain why. He supposed it had something to do with the pain in his hip, which the attack by Kalimac followed by the scuffle with the wolves had done little to help. Whatever the reason, he had become sullen in aspect and quicker with his tongue than even his family was used to. Even May had come in for some lengthy pieces of unsought ‘advice,’ and it was only through a monumental effort of will that Fordogrim had resisted the urge to tell Marcho everything that he thought of this venture. The scout, perhaps sensing the old hobbit’s mood, had taken to avoiding him whenever possible.

Fordogrim reached Stout and hauled himself up the pony’s side. His friend’s wounds were healing from the wolf attack, but like his master Stout now walked with a bit of a limp which had forced the old hobbit to ride in the cart with his family from time to time to give Stout a rest. This closer proximity had only increased the tensions within the family, but so far no-one had spoken of it. Harold looked over to his father and asked if the Whitfoot children were safe. “Aye, that they are,” Fordogrim replied as gruffly as possible. He did not know why, but since they had left Bree he had saved his foulest moods for his son. “But like as not, those Whitfoots will be a-blaming our Henry and May for that. Fool Whitfoots!” Fordogrim could see his son biting his tongue, and for some reason this only made him angrier. “Where is it we’re at again, anyway son?” he demanded.

“This is the Baranduin River, father. It’s the beginning of the new land we’ve come to live in.”

“The Brandywine, eh? Seems mighty dangerous to me; not the kind of place for sensible hobbits to live” He looked pointedly at where the Whitfoot children were being tended to by their parents.

“It’s the Baranduin,” Harold said. Is that a sigh he just fetched at me? “And we’re not going to live next to the River – we’ve got days and days of travel to go still.”

“Eh! What’s that? Days more to go, you say? Well if there’s days still to go yet, then why is that there crack-brain Marcho making such a ballyhoo about reaching this here Brandywine?” He emphasised the last word, seeking to get a rise out of his son. He did not know why he was spoiling for a fight, but he was. He glared about him at the rest of the Chubbs, waiting for one of them to succumb to his baiting.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold could not help but grin when his father called the Baranduin River by the name ‘Brandywine.’ Just yesterday, Marcho had told him that ‘Baranduin’ was an Elvish word that had something to do with the golden brown color of the river. But the muddy waters did look a lot like his favorite mug of foaming ale: what Hobbits call ‘Bralda-hîm’, or loosely ‘Brandywine’ in the common tongue. He’d have to remember that name and pass it along to his friends.

But except for that lone humorous and clever comment, Grandpa Fordo seemed to be even more grumpy and irritated than before. He had snapped at Harold curtly about how “crack-brained Marcho” had made such a fuss about reaching the river when days still remained in their trip. Although Harold had been angry at Marcho for tearing him away from Bree, he was slowly revising his opinion of the Fallohide leader. If it hadn’t been for their rescue by this so-called “crack-brained Marcho”, Harold would not be alive, and neither would his father.

It almost seemed as if Granda was purposely trying to pick a fight with him. For a minute, Harold thought of responding sharply to his father’s whining and teaching him a lesson. He wanted to tell him that Marcho was not a ‘crack-brained leader’, but the one who had enough sense not to race into the forest along with the two of them. Instead, he had carefully rounded up the rest of the Hobbits and formed a rescue team that had made the difference in driving away the wolves.

Maybe, Harold reasoned, it was time for him to start thinking ahead too. Even though Harold was irritated with his father, he bit his tongue and stopped himself from taking up Fordo’s bait and throwing it back at him. Instead, he grinned broadly and said, “Dad, you’re never going to change. The Chubb family will get through this just fine if we can only manage to stay together. We’re tougher than any of those Fallohides.”

Harold reached over and affectionately wrapped his arms around his irascible father. Just maybe, Harold had learned something from this journey after all.

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

Witch-Queen's post for Sarah:

Sarah sat there watching Harold and Fordo. It seemed like they were getting along now and Sarah was not as happy as before. It was because of Fordo that she and Harold wasn't as close. Sarah was not going to set back and watch Grandpa Chubb tear her family apart. She knew that it wouldn't be wise to talk to Grandpa about it now so Sarah decided to wait until Harold had left.

Minutes went by and Harold finally walked away from his father. Sarah thought it would be the perfect time to talk to the old hobbit. The tension between them had to be broken. After all Sarah didn't want the tension to go into her new home when it was made. "Father Chubb is it alright if we speak for a moment." Sarah had a look of concern on her face. Fordo nodded and Sarah proceeded. "Fordo, it seems as if there is some tension between the two of us. Perhaps it is best if we settle our differences. After all it will make the journey more interesting if we did." She didn't want another family fued on her hand. She couldn't stand to have Fordo mad at her since it only seemed to make everyone hate her.

Since the fight between us and the Whitfoots is over for now perhaps Grandpa and I can come to some agreement. If something was to happen, who knows what Grandpa would do to the rest of the family. It is wise that I get everything settled before we end this journey.

[alaklondewen]

Arestevana's Post: Elsa Whitfoot

When she saw both of her children in the river, Elsa’s first thought was to panic. She had too little attention to spare to register surprise when the unoccupied part of her mind realized that this emotion did not immediately take hold. She kept her head long enough to progress to a second, more logical thought. They can't swim. I can’t swim. Then terror set in, and she began fighting her way out of the crowd, trying to reach a point on the bank where she could reach the children.

When she reached the shore, Elsa found her children safe and out of the water, pulled to safety by Mr. Chubb’s cane. She arrived in time to hear a short lecture about safety near a river. When Fordogrim concluded his lecture, Elsa felt inclined to pick up where he had let off. Then she saw her children laying on the river bank, drenched and shivering, and hurried forward to hug them both. Kalimac came up as well, and soon both were comforting the children and trying to dry them off with several towels proffered by families with wagons parked nearby.

Having concluded that her children were all right, Elsa began to relax slightly. She was shaking, having realized how close she had come, once again, to losing both her children. They seemed to have recovered somewhat, and were slightly drier, she noted, but their clothes were thoroughly drenched and very muddy. Elsa led them back to the wagon and found them dry clothes, absently removing a piece of hay from Crispin’s vest pocket as she handed him a fresh shirt. She gave it little thought, her mind occupied. Twice! That’s twice we could have lost them, now. Is this the price of our new land; such constant danger to our children? The new land was a sweet dream, but it will never be worth that much. Perhaps we should go home.

[alaklondewen]

Marcho was relieved the child was safely returned to shore, and he internally noted the hand (or cane) Fordogrim Chubb had in the affair. The old hobbit seemed to be made of tougher stuff than the scout would have originally guessed. Marcho stood back and watched his brother-in-law and Elsa drying their children and hugging them desperately. This was the second time in the last week their children could have been lost, and the scout felt sorry for them both. The Fallohide had expected the journey to be a difficult one, but he had not fully understood how much so until the last few days.

Once the hobbits had returned to their wagons and carts, Marcho tugged on the reigns to his ponies and moved the band on down the road. Crossing the bridge did the hobbit’s heart good, and he couldn’t help grinning as he surveyed the land around him. Sure, he had walked and looked over the area before with his brother, but now the land he saw was their land…his people’s land. The ground was much flatter now and they traveled parallel to another river that had yet had a name he that he knew. The whisper of the water’s movement was music his ears…music he would hear for the next three days. The group would have no problem finding fresh fish for meals and water for drinking now.

The wind persisted for much of the day, but no storm came as the dark clouds had threatened to bring earlier. They halted once before their final camp to let their ponies rest, and finally, as the shadows grew long and the sun was close to failing in the west, Marcho stopped his ponies and directed the others to make camp.

The air was still warm and the hobbits were of a merry mood as they prepared their meals. Some of the younger hobbits sat of the edge of the river bank trying to catch a few fish before the sun was completely gone. A few of the adults spoke freely of their anxiety of the lads being near the water so soon after the little Whitfoot lass almost drowned, but apparently their parents were not so concerned.

Marcho stretched his weary legs out and lay on the bare ground just outside the circle of camp. Looking up he watched the stars pop out from the growing darkness of the sky. This is our sky…our sky, he thought. His dreams were becoming a reality. His people would be able to live their lives peacefully without the interference of the Big Folk. No more, he thought. They wouldn’t live their lives under the thumb of those who were twice their size. They were their own people now.