[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim winced as Stout stumbled on a rock, jarring the old hobbit’s gammy leg. Sarah had been full of concern for him after his tumble into the briars, but he hadn’t told her what the fall had done to his leg. It had hurt, on and off, for almost twenty years now, but always it had been a dull ache – not like this. Sharp spasms of pain went from his hip to his foot every time he was jarred suddenly, some of them strongly enough to make him catch his breath. He shifted in his saddle as Stout looked back at him apologetically. He patted the pony’s neck in forgiveness and smiled at the little fellow’s snicker of joy. Fordogrim liked being old – as it gave him a certain leeway in the expression of his ideas, if not always the respect that he deserved – but he did not like for other hobbits to think of him as being old. So he kept to himself the information that a slight stumble had rendered him virtually unable to walk. It didn’t matter, Stout would be able to bear him on this journey.

At his side walked May. She had been sticking close to him ever since Luncheon and he could tell that she was doing so out of a sense of solidarity. He was glad for her company on the road, for among all of his family she had the most hobbit sense. They chatted amicably of the lands they were passing through, as neither of them had been this way. May asked if Fordogrim knew anything of where they would be stopping for the night, for rumors had been passing up and down the convoy ever since the Bolgers had called a brief meeting. Fordogrim called out to Fredigar Headstrong who was riding just ahead of them. “Hoy there, Fredigar! Come back here and tells us what you’ve heard from the Big Leaders about where we’re headed!” Fredigar fell in beside May and Fordogrim and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Well I was asking that same question myself to Marcho, as I’ve heard some awful queer tales about those woods, awful queer. 'You ain’t leadin’ us into some kind of unnatural place?' I asked him. But he just looks about, not meeting my eyes mind, and mumbles at me that I’ve been listening to too many children’s tales. Well, there’s a lot more truth in children’s stories than I think some are willing to let on! And I’ve heard some awfully queer tales about those woods. Awful queer.”

Fordogrim and May merely nodded gravely at Fredigar’s narration. After a few more polite words, Fred moved back to his place in the convoy. May could not help but laugh aloud at the fellow’s manner, but Fordogrim spoke sharply to her. “You’d best not be a-laughing at that fellow’s worries, lass. He’s a soft-headed fellow, that’s sure, but his heart’s as strong as his head isn’t, and not easily scared. If he’s got concerns about this here woods, then we’d best be looking out for it ourselves!” He saw May’s face grow sullen once more, and he immediately regretted his tone. The poor lass! he thought, she’s no more desire to be here than I, and she’s had nothing but harsh words for and from her parents about this for days! And there I go a-sharping it with her, when she’s been so good to stick by her old Grandpa. Fordogrim softened his expression and smiled at May reassuringly, “There, there, lass – you’re a stout girl with a stout heart and I’ve no doubt there’s nothing on this Road that will cause you worry or grief, so don’t listen to the worries of an old hobbit like me. It’s not what’s ahead that’s on your mind, but what’s behind, so to speak. I know you’re not happy about this, and, well, you know my views…so if you want to talk about how you’re feeling, well…I’m not going anywhere.” Fordogrim laughed. “Well, I am a-going somewhere, which is both the point and the problem, ennit? What I means to say, lass, is my ear’s as ready to listen as your heart is ready to speak.”