Gorby
Standing beside the tree, I pressed a wrinkled, grubby piece of parchment against the bark and then began to ever so carefully scratch across the surface:
Forgive me for not dating this, but I have quite forggotten the time since it has rushed buy in a colorful blur of swords and blood and insteruments of tortur. We have just eskaped deth by a hare’s breadth and now our elves and men are mulling around, wondering where Falco has got two. I suppose they don’t go out to search for him because it’s always best to stay put when one member of a party is lost -- but since I think we’re both lost (Falco from us and us from Falco), I do wonder what will happen if both parties deside to stey put. I suppose we could send won of our fine elves to search for them, but then again, it really is quite dangerous walking alone…
I miss my poor pony and I’m sure Lira laments the loss of her mare…the name was much too complicated to pronounce much less spell but she told me once it meant “wind” or something of that nature. It’s a shame we hobbits lost our ponies because most of the food was packed on them…speaking of which, I’m starving. My knees are quivering as I speek -- oh blast, my pen just punctured the parchment into the bark. Oh well…where was I? Food, yes. I’d give anything for a pipe and smoke, with some sugared roles and a bit of butter melting on some corn bread. And some taters would be in order as well…
Oh no! Sixty men have been seen galloping across the ridge. I suppose that we did alright with the first sixty…but we’re wounded, arrows are in short supply -- speaking of which it’s been quite gruesome watching the elven ladies plucking the shafts from the dead corpses. Blood and guts tend cling to the arrow part, like seaweed on an anchor I’d imagine…
The horsemen are drawing nearer and they’re friends -- not enemies! Falco’s at the head and I’m sure he’s mighty pleased with himself at his long awaited chance at leading somebody or something. Naturally, he came to our rescue just a wee bit late but better late than never.
The poor men are starving -- you can see their ribs through the tatters that serve for clothing. Whip scars as well….Their heads are little better than a skull with a skin stretched tightly across it and eyes staring hollowly from the sockets. And here we are with little food to spare…but they must have come from somewhere and that somewhere must surely have some food unless they were starving them…Cruel thought. They could stand to live a few years in the Shire to get some meat upon their bones. Oh happy thought! Maybe Eodwine is among them: he surely must be -- I can’t imagine that they’re could be anymore hideouts in a cold, barren place as this.
From what I gather from the crowded, loud, rushed conversation, it seems as if Falco rescued them from some guards…and swam in the cold water no less. Funny, I didn’t think he’d have it in him to brave the water, much less the men…I wonder if I would have had the courage, or the brains to do what he did…
I stopped and put my things away and crept towards the group of men. Licking my lips, I said shrilly, “I suppose we’re going to go home, then, to the Shire, since they’ve been found, aren’t we?”
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