Taralphiel's post
“Well, I’m glad we’re out of there,” Mirabella said with a pant. The journey to gather firewood had made her very ill at ease. Both her companions had been rather jumpy in the mist, and it seemed contagious. Thinking about it, she realised that the past week she had been growing more and more uneasy about their surroundings.
Moving up close to the fire and waiting for the evening meal, she scratched Toms ears. He wagged his tail happily and snuggles closer to her which made her chuckle 'Im glad Tom is with us! He seems a better guide then that Old Bill' she frowned. Her distrust for Big Folk was now cemented after his disappearance.
Sidling over near Olo, he muttered 'So, how are we going? Shall we be through these woods soon?'
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Pio's post
Ben leaned close to Mirabella and whispered to her. ‘I’m glad Tom is with us too.’ He looked out toward the edge of the forest. The gnarly branches rattled their leaves despite the fact there was no wind. A cold shiver ran down Ben’s spine, and he threw several large logs on the fire. He hunched in closer thinking the shadows of the trees loomed closer as he did so.
‘Don’t be silly,’ he told himself, it’s getting onto night, there are no shadows coming out of the trees.
The group was a little subdued after supper. No one had wanted to go back to the stream near the trees’ edge to do the washing up, so they had simply put the stew pot aside (there wasn’t much left in it at all), and when it had cooled, Tom volunteered to lick it clean.
They talked in hushed tones to one another, and the songs that one or two of them would start to sing, fell flat and seemed to disappear into the oncoming darkness.
Penny and Ferd banked the fire as night drew on, and the Hobbits gathered in close about it to try and rest before they pushed on in the morning. Strange noises skittered in the branches of the trees, and every so often Tom would give a deep growl and raise his hackles. But even he after a while succumbed to sleep.
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
It was a grey morning that greeted them. The fire had gone out and the mist that crept in had dampened the embers completely. Ben sat up, knuckling the sleep from his eyes, and gave a mighty stretch, trying to work out some of the kinks in his muscles the cold lumpy ground had put there.
He picked up his folded vest (he was using it as a pillow), and put it on in preparation for getting up to his feet and seeing to the fire. Out of habit, he patted the numerous pockets, and a frown started on his face.
‘Hey!’ he shouted, standing up and looking about on the ground where his vest had lain. ‘My tin whistle’s gone missing!’
He looked about the camp. The stew pot had been dragged off near the trees, and there on a nearby bush was one of Rosie’s little bird nets – ripped in spots, and holes chewed through the string webbing in others.
The others were fully awake now, and each of them had looks of consternation on their faces as they patted their own pockets and searched their sleeping area . . .
[ June 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
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