[Garen LiLorian]

It was a sorry sight that greeted Tom Leafthistle that morning. The ragged band of would-be heroes stumbled back into Bree, footsore, wounded and pleased merely to be alive. Several faces were missing from among the group, too. He wrung his hands in consternation. "Gaddy?" He called out, searching vainly the faces for one he recognized, "Elfred? Nariah, lass, are you here?"

Gaddy moved forward out of the pack of farmers and other motley characters. His face was white and he was limping badly, but he was alive. Tom sighed in relief. "What happened? Oh, never mind about all that." He lifted his voice to reach the entire group. "Come with me, all of you. Pints to the returning heroes at the Pony, on me!" There was a ragged cheer at this, but not nearly as much of one as the jovial Mayor expected.

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The Prancing Pony was filled with light and warmth, two things the weary heroes needed. Most of the band sat round the fire, too exhausted for conversation and cradling mugs of cider, but Gaddy and Tom claimed a table in a corner, and spoke of events. Gaddy had related the events of the previous day, and now the two of them were arguing.

"Nonsense," Tom boomed, his face an even more vibrant shade of red than usual. He slurped noisily at his fourth pint. "They must be halfway to the Misty Mountains by now, after the thrashing you gave 'em. You're heroesh, I tell you! Heroesh is what you are."

"Don't be a fool, Tom," Gaddy hissed. The two characters painted a sharp contrast in the firelight, the large fat Man red with drink and good health, while the small figure of the Hobbit was drawn and pale from his wounds. "There must have been eight or ten wolves left from that battle. These aren't normal wolves, Tom. These are Wargs, demons in wolf-form from high in the mountains. They won't be satisfied until we're dead."

"Jumping at shadows, my dear hobbit. You're jumping at shadows. Ish Ok. I'd be shcared too..." The big Man blinked and tried to remember what he'd been saying. "WherewashI?" He asked plaintively.

Gaddy sighed. Tom was a good enough sort, as the Big Folk went, he thought. But why did he have to get like this all the time?

"You were saying, Tom, that you're going to send out some farmers to search the area for signs of the animals."

"I wah?" Tom looked confused. "Oh. Right. Barli!" He shouted full into Gaddy's face, and the stoic hobbit winced as the intoxicated human's breath washed over him. Barliman straightened up from where he'd been fussing over Nariah with the instincts of a mother hen, and gave Tom a withering glare before trotting over obediently. Tom made a vague gesture in the air. "Roundup a few of those... wossnames. Dark, thingy, Rangers. Tell 'em to shearch around for, you know, thingy, doggies, mean..." He blinked owlishly. "Wolves," Gaddy prompted. "Yeah. Like he shaish." The inebrieated human waved a hand in the general direction of Gaddy before collapsing on the table.

Barliman Butterbur straightened up. "Maybe you'd better be telling your story to Old Mugwort," he said. "He'll be in and about Bree-village this time of day. Ho! Nob, you wool-pated numbskull! Nob!" The much put upon serving hobbit appeared in a flash. "Fetch Bob. Tell 'em to run out and bring old master Mugwort, with my compliments." Nob disappeared as quickly as he had come.

"No doubt, master Furbarrow, but old Tom here will be wanting to give you and yours a party before the week is out. Not every day something like this happens in Bree. Why, I can't remember..." Gaddy sat still as the garrolous innkeeper's monologue flowed over him. A party? Why? Didn't any of these people recognize the danger? Gaddy hoped Mr. Mugwort would be a better ear.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The patriarch of the Mugwort family had proved most accomodating. Farmers and experienced folk of all ages had taken up combing the hills for any sign of the murderous wolves, but it had been to no effect. 'Maybe they really have gone back to wherever they came from,' was the thought on every persons mind at one time or another, even Gaddy. A day passed, then two. The faces of the heroes began to show life and energy again. Wounds, both physical and psychological, were healing over. Ned continued his sword lessons with Autumn.

All of Bree was in an uproar over the celebration to be thrown for these heroes. A party of special magnificence, to be presided over by the Mayor himself, was to be thrown for the brave band, with presents for all and sundry. All the town was invited, and most of the outlying villages of Archet and Combe as well. Tom strutted around the the village, red as a turkey cock, puffed up with self importance. Only Gaddy still harboured doubts, but those were fading fast with the continued reports of "nothing to report" he recieved from the scouts. The party was to be this evening...

[ January 26, 2003: Message edited by: Garen LiLorian ]