[Imladris]

Gorby

My crude, iron fork scratched my tin plate. I nudged my food and stuck my tongue out at it: it was a very poor feast; the meat was tough, the bread was slightly dry and stale. Bringing the fork full to my mouth, I gagged and dropped the mouthful -- luckily it fell back onto my plate. “I don’t think I can stomach any more of this,” I whispered to Anson. “This isn’t real food.”

“What would you call it then?” Anson asked, gnawing upon a piece of meat.

I considered, different thoughts flitting through my mind. “Grub,” I pronounced.

“Grub is food, Orb,” he said, looking at me mock wariness and jokingly using Lily‘s nickname for me.

“Of course grub is food,” I assented vigorously, shoving the food in circles around my plate, “but the word grub doesn’t sound as pleasant as food. Grub conveys the image that someone has been grubbing for this lousy fare in a place utterly barren of good food: inded, a place that lacks good decent, hobbit-like food. See?”

“You are strange, Gorby.”

“The food will taste better once we have traveled a bit,” Falowik said as he passed us by and sat down by Thoromir.

I blushed crimson. He had heard me and my nonsense! The second of the camp! “Right,” I said weakly.

“Come on…eat a bite!” Anson coaxed. “See? I’ve already finished mine.”

Drat. He had. My stomach groaned begging for food: good food. Not nasty food. Good food. As my teeth came down upon a bread, I found it wasn’t quite so bad as it looked. Still, it wasn’t up to par.

We then picked lots and thankfully Anson and I weren’t picked. As we crawled underneath our blankets, I whispered, “I am going to sleep tonight…stones an’ all. I wonder how often we’ll luck out and not get picked to watch. Such a boring, nasty job…”
***********************
Lira

It was Lira’s turn to watch and, as her blue eyes barely glimmered in the star’s faint light, she thought of the semi-council they had had. She wondered why she had not thought of Fornost before, the once inhabited city. Her father would have wished to visit such a city and maybe she would find signs of him there.

Smiling in the darkness, she thought of their journey. The Brandywine had never been far away and she could had heard it chuckling as it ran merrily along its course. She laughed merrily when she remembered the little water fight Gorby and Anson had had one day. The thought of water reminded her of a lilting hobbit tune and she sang it softly, her feet tapping to the rhythm as her body swayed.

Looking at the stars, she saw that her watch was up, and, creeping toward Falowik, she woke him gently and said, “It is your watch now.” Nestling under her blanket, the fire warming her chilled toes, she wondered what they would find, if anything, at Fornost. At the name, a shadow seemed to pass over her heart at the name: a vague dread.

[ November 14, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]