[piosenniel]

Carl took first watch that night. Even thought the door was barred, still the hobbits felt uneasy. They pulled their mattresses close to the bright flames of the fire, as if to keep the shadow from them. Carl sat in a chair by the fireplace, his feet propped on the raised stone hearth. He fed the fire when it burned low and listened to the moaning sound of the wind as it blew past the chimney and swept round the corners of the Inn.

Olo took the second watch, and then the third as he had not the heart to wake the sleeping Bullroarer. The night passed uneventfully without the slightest sound of someone or something trying to break in.

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ whispered the Took to the drowsing Olo, just as the sun shed its first light in through a crack in the window’s boards. ‘Lay down for a short rest, and I’ll get breakfast going.’

He found a passably clean pot and set the water to boiling near the built up fire. There was no oatmeal to be found in the Inn pantry, so Bullroarer took some from the Hobbits’ food supply and cooked it up. He had found a large pot of honey, and set it out for a sweetener. Another pot of water was warmed up for tea water.

The companions started to wake up as soon as the smells of breakfast and sweet spice tea tickled their noses. Carl was up and had taken the ponies out to the stable to feed and water them. He saw no signs of Warg or wolf tracks and was relieved.

Once breakfast was done, and everything cleared away, they loaded the wagon back up and made ready to leave. Bullroarer called a short meeting before the started down the road, reminding them that this was the last Inn until Rivendell. From now on out they would have to rough it. He also reminded them that they were going into an area of increasing danger, and that they were to stick together as they walked along the road and must not straggle off. ‘Keep your weapons at hand, and remember where the torches are.’

He lit the lantern that hung to the side of the wagon and put his club beside him. From beneath the seat, he took his quiver with the black, poisoned arrows mixed in with some of his own, and took out his bow and strung it.

Carl and Olo did not range ahead of the group, they stayed close, instead. Carl walked before the lead pony his eyes sweeping the road ahead and the forest to the sides of it. Olo brought up the rear, his bow in hand.

They headed north up the rutted roadway to the main road and then turned east again. There were grey clouds obscuring the sun, and the wind was brisk in their faces. No sign of snow yet as they headed toward Weathertop and past the Midgewater marshes . . .