[piosenniel]

Will Farroweed

It was noisy at the Inn. It couldn’t help but be so. The place was bursting at the seams with farmers and their families who had come in from the outlying areas of Bree-land. There was no place to get away from the noise at the Pony, every inch not occupied by Hobbits or Men was crammed with farm animals, nose to tail in their proximity. Some creature of one sort or the other was always awake.

Normally, Will did not mind the hubbub and the jostling. He came from a loud family of seven children and two parents. Even his soft-spoken Mother could hammer her opinions home with a great voice if needed. And now that she had reconciled with Big Tom (though if truth be told, he was on his best behavior now around the Hobbit guests because of the watchful eye she kept on him), the family’s room was noisier than ever. At least in the country, when he wanted a bit of quiet, he could walk out to the gnarled apple trees that hedged the pig runs to the west of their house, and hide himself on one of the middle branches, among the leaves. The stars through the leaves moved quietly in their courses, he recalled, and only the occasional call of a nighthawk or the soft whirr of the fruit bats broke the silence.

He used to do his best thinking in the trees. Although, thinking then had mainly run to his nefarious plans to pull mean pranks on some unfortunate victim. He felt different now, though he could not quite put the words to his feelings. There were twinges of conscience now that informed his ponderings. Checkpoints he’d learned to rely on when he was making decisions. To be sure, his mother had planted the seeds, but it had been through his work with the other men on the dike, and his interactions with the Hobbits he had met and worked alongside that the seeds had begun to throw down roots and send up their first sprouts. His new work companions and the patrons at the Inn expected him to act a certain way, expected that he could act a certain way – treated him as a young man on the verge of adulthood, assumed he would make the right decisions, the ones needed.

He needed to make a few decisions tonight, and so found himself heading for the tree he’d used once or twice before. Mistress Woolthistle had extended the invitation to him to attend classes. He’d never been much of a student, and he knew from listening in on the class from time to time, that there were younger children (many of them Hobbits, to be exact) who were leaps and bounds ahead of him in reading and numbers. Now the Old Will would have bullied the ‘smarty-pants’ unmercifully – but the new Will saw it differently. He’d watched the Men and Hobbits attacking a problem with calculations and with written plans; he wanted to be able to do that. His pride warred with his thirst for knowledge – he needed to think this through. One other problem needed solving, too. He was a crack shot with his short, hunting bow. And he had heard about the plan for Hobbit archers in the trap that was being planned. He knew he could help out. But he knew his mother would say no, and he knew he’d need to convince the Hobbit Ranger that he was sincere in wanting to help out.

Will watched the sun’s last finger of light squeeze down below the western rim of the world. He’d brought an apple and a small skin of water with him, and had stuffed a few pieces of jerky in his pocket. He’d even brought a folded a blanket to cushion his back against the bark of the large tree that stood near the North end of the Hedge. From his position on a branch about ten feet off the ground, he watched the lights go out in Bree as he settled in to think. All was quiet for a while, except for the night breezes rustling through the leaves.

Then his ears picked up the occasional creak of wheels along the dusty path, and the soft whisperings of two little voices. Soon they were joined by others, and made their way out through the gap in the Hedge. Big and Little Folk children! In the darkness he could not make out exactly who they were, but he could see them moving in a cluster away from the safety of the Village.

When they had passed a fair way beyond the tree, he climbed swiftly down, landing softly in the leaves below. There was no time to run back to get someone to help; the night was already swallowing them up. With light steps he crept along behind them, being careful to hide behind rocky outcroppings and bushes once one of them, in the lead, had lit a small hooded lantern to light their way . . .

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:34 AM December 29, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]