[Child of the 7th Age]

It was early evening. Most of the children had made their way back to the Workhouse from their errands and chores. Dozens of steaming wet coats and breeches were strung along a wooden frame that had been set near the fireplace. Azra was portioning out a bowl of hot soup and a piece of break for each child. They were clamoring for more, but Nitir shook her head. She was already beginning to worry whether the food would hold out until the snow subsided, and spring returned to the earth.

Then there was a loud knock at the front and the door pushed open with a well placed kick. Ban and Kemba crowded inside, their icy breath forming rings in the air. Each of the men dragged behind them several long lines which were loaded down with good-sized fish. The perch and trout that were attached must have numbered well over a hundred.

Ban grinned and reached out, pulling Zira to his side. He explained to her, "All the men went down to the river and cut holes in the ice. We've been fishing for hours, and we're half frozen. But we had good luck. How are you at cooking fish stew?" That night the whole community, adults and children, jammed together in the Workhouse, ejoying the warmth of its large fire and feasting on fish stew.

Nitir stood by the large pot doling out generous portions as if she were a queen awarding honors to her subjects. She could not explain it, but she was happy, in some ways happier than she had been in a very long time. It didn't make sense, given the situation she was in. But she was grinning and looking at everyone around her who seemed to be having a good time.

Azra and Lindo were chattering with each other and actually giggling at the antics of some of the young ones. Ban was tossing his son into the air, and Zira was beginning to play tunes on her flute. Nitir shook her head in astonishment. When she had made the decision to come here, she had thought about so many things. Long nights had been spent pouring over battle strategies and maps, and puzzling out strange riddles. She had wondered what hardships might be involved, and dreamed of meeting Elves whose names were blazoned in books of lore. But she had never thought about the people themselves, at least her own people whose names didn't appear in any of the books. She remembered how she had scrutinized those pictures of early hobbits, and had felt a bit uncomfortable. The hobbits' coats looked ragged, and, underneath their fingernails, there were slivers of rich brown soil . They didn't speak mind-to-mind as the Elves did, nor were they permitted to sail to the Blessed Lands. And their burrows were undoubtedly inferior to the fine homes she had known.

Nitir felt ashamed and humbled, when she remembered how she had felt. How wrong she had been! Although Nitir had only vague memories of the Shire, she sensed that hobbits like Maura and Lindo were actually more open to Elves and lore and adventure than hobbits from her own age had been. Even more than this, Nitir realized that this community, and these people were beginning to tug very hard at her heart. She would have no trouble walking out of the Orc's prison camp and slamming the door in their faces. But walking away from Maura and Lindo and Zira.....now that was a much different thing.

[ August 16, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]