[Child of the 7th Age]

Ancalimon left the small burrow where Lily's family lived. They had grieved together, and talked about Lily and what a wonderful daughter she had been. As Ancalimon watched the stream of families walking towards the house, he was certain of one thing. However, horrific the ordeal these families faced, they would not face it alone. The love and care of their neighbors was more than evident.

What a painful afternoon it had been. And it was not yet over. Ancalimon paced towards the Workhouse for his final task of talking with Nitir and visiting the children.

The sun was fading from the sky as he entered the building. He stopped to chat with Zira and give Lindo an affectionate hug. Then he was introduced to Azra. He gazed at the young woman with a puzzled expression.

Taking her gently by the arm, Ancalimon steered her to the corner of the room and lowered his head to speak privately. "Rose, it is Rose, I believe?" The young hobbit glanced up with a look of alarm. "Don't be frightened." he responded. I was told you might be here." Ancalimon talked with Rose at length, inquiring about her work with the children and her friends on the Star.

Then, he asked Rose how her older friend was doing. The girl shook her head as if she wasn't sure what to say, and pointed towards the back room where Nitir had a small table to do her planning for the children.

Analimon knocked with his staff on the door. This time, he heard a soft but mournful reply. "Please come in."

Ancalimon gazed at the hobbit. Her eyes were red and puffy, with her curls cascading down from her ribbon in twenty different directions. She clutched a pen in one hand and a book in the other. There were keys at her waist for all the different storerooms in the building. And in front of her was a long list of details she was committing to memory about the children's meals for the next week. She was middle-aged and chubby, and, even in grief, had a look of stubborness on her face. She seemed to be a whirlwind of activity, although there was some question as to how directed that activity was.

Ancalimon took one look at her and smiled. She stood up and inspected him up and down, taking in the staff and the tall and floppy hat with its wide brim. "Ancalimon?" she queried. Realization flooded over her. "You are from the house of Nienna."

"Yes," he nodded and then asked, "Are you in pain, Child?"

"What do you think?" she retorted. Her words held pique as well as genuine hurt. She looked at him accusingly, "You and the Elves find your way to the Blessed Lands, but my people live here and now in this place of heartache. It's not easy being a hobbit."

He was not used to a woman being quite so headstrong, but something told him that her frustration and sharp words came only from a heart that cared too much. But then he remembered. There was one other. And she had said much the same to him some one hundred years before. He pictured the wise woman Andreth in his mind, and then he pictured Child. The one a child of Man, and the other a hobbit. Yet, in certain ways, he reflected, they were very similar.

Then the woman looked over at Ancalimon again, her eyes brimming with tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say that."

"But is this what you feel, Child?" he asked softly.

"Sometimes, but only sometimes," the hobbit said contritely.

She looked at him with hurt on her face, "I couldn't do it. I just couldn't do it. Maybe it would have been better if I had. Now two bodies lie in the ground instead of one."

"Why, Child? Tell me why you couldn't pick?"

She stared at him uncomfortably, "You know," she whispered.

"Perhaps I do, but you need to say it.

"Because I'm a hobbit," she said, tears dropping one-by-one to the crowded papers below. "Because I'm not the Creator, or one of the great powers that my teacher used to talk about. Because it's not my job to do picking like that. I can barely manage to pick out the menus for the next week. How could I pick who should live and who should die?"

He looked at her with eyes still and solemn. Then he went over and placed her hand in his and gently kissed it.

"You have said what I would have spoken to you. This ache will be in your heart forever, until you find peace in some other place or time. But you must go on. There are too many here who need your help. You can't stop now."

"I know," she said in hushed tones. "When Pio died, I didn't know, but now I know."

"Then you have learned something that is precious." he responded. "And I promise you, as I have promised Maura, that I will be here to help."

She nodded her head, and they went in together to hear the children sing.

[ August 14, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]