He rubbed his hand across his eyes, breathing deeply. His face was drawn, grimed with sweat and dirt and the blood of the dying Wolves he had dragged to the fire. So tired, he thought, and still so far to go.
Bullroarer shifted his weight on the rock he sat on and looked up as Carl offered him a mug of tea. He nodded gratefully as the man walked on. The feel of the warm mug was a welcome relief against the chill in his fingers. A few sips of the fragrant liquid lifted his spirits as well.
He hoisted himself off the rock and walked stiffly to the wagon. The injured Hobbits were sleeping, warm beneath their blankets. So pale and fragile they looked, these little warriors. Bullroarer looked West and sent a small plea. 'Let them heal quickly, in body and spirit.'
The Took paused near Daisy and brushed the side of her face with his hand. 'Come on, girl! You and I still have some snares to set and some hunting to do. Got to keep this hungry band fed!'
Gaddy was standing between Daisy and Hal, griefstricken at the sight of them. His eyes puddled with tears, obscuring his sight. Bullroarer tapped him on the arm, drawing his attention to the two. 'Look, Gaddy!'
Daisy stirred beneath her blankets, her eyes fluttering open . . .
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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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