It was a short meal, and a cheerless one. Hard to swallow dry bread with a throat made dry from anxiousness.
Bullroarer watched as the Hobbits put up their meager snack and took the last drink of water from their skins. He climbed on the wagon, and taking the reins in hand, clucked to the pony to urge it on.
Down the road, ever eastward, they trudged on . . .
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.
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