The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum - View Single Post

alaklondewen · 03-25-2004, 09:26 PM

Marcho shivered as he slowly finished off his warmed bread and eggs. The morning’s dew still laced the surface of the wagon, and he could feel the dampness seeping through his trousers as he stretched out in the back. He was taking his time this morning, because he knew he needed to go back into the forest to gather the rest of the timber. Even in the bright morning sunlight he could feel the stray branches tugging at his clothes. He shivered again. He had purposefully not told anyone what happened in there, with the exception of his dear wife. The travelers would be camping next to the forest for the next three nights, and he did not need them more worried and anxious than they already were. No, he would pretend nothing unusual took place, but he would not go under those boughs after dark again, not by his own volition anyway.

The scout watched the settlers begin their morning preparations. Several small fires had been lit, and a few hobbits tried to salvage the charred kindling from the night before. Their spirits seemed to be merry with the coming of the new day. Many wives sang together as they did their chores, and the husbands tended the fires and talked of the land to come. Marcho chuckled to see Harold Chubb’s children running, one after the other. Does that girl have a cane? Marcho thought to himself and sat up to get a better look. They stopped and he saw that old Fordogrim retrieving the twisted stick. Chuckling again, the scout shook his head and lay back once more.

“Looking mighty comfortable, Brother.” Blanco stood at the end of the wagon smiling mischievously as though he’d caught his brother carrying out some surreptitious plan. Marcho just glanced at him from the corner of his eye and placed his hands behind his head in a dramatic fashion. “Come now, we need to get that wood before we set out. I’m sure you, of all hobbits, want us on the road at a decent time this morning.”

Blanco was right. Marcho normally would have already had his wagon packed and been complaining about how long the others were taking, but he wasn’t looking forward to entering the forest again. The scout sighed and mumbled something under his breath that might have sounded like his brother was right, but was too subtle to be sure. Standing up and hopping out of the wagon, Marcho grabbed his axe and followed his brother into the forest toward the fallen, ancient willow.

03-25-2004, 09:26 PM	#67
alaklondewen Song of Seregon Join Date: Feb 2002 Location: Following the road less traveled Posts: 1,193	Marcho Bolger Marcho shivered as he slowly finished off his warmed bread and eggs. The morning’s dew still laced the surface of the wagon, and he could feel the dampness seeping through his trousers as he stretched out in the back. He was taking his time this morning, because he knew he needed to go back into the forest to gather the rest of the timber. Even in the bright morning sunlight he could feel the stray branches tugging at his clothes. He shivered again. He had purposefully not told anyone what happened in there, with the exception of his dear wife. The travelers would be camping next to the forest for the next three nights, and he did not need them more worried and anxious than they already were. No, he would pretend nothing unusual took place, but he would not go under those boughs after dark again, not by his own volition anyway. The scout watched the settlers begin their morning preparations. Several small fires had been lit, and a few hobbits tried to salvage the charred kindling from the night before. Their spirits seemed to be merry with the coming of the new day. Many wives sang together as they did their chores, and the husbands tended the fires and talked of the land to come. Marcho chuckled to see Harold Chubb’s children running, one after the other. Does that girl have a cane? Marcho thought to himself and sat up to get a better look. They stopped and he saw that old Fordogrim retrieving the twisted stick. Chuckling again, the scout shook his head and lay back once more. “Looking mighty comfortable, Brother.” Blanco stood at the end of the wagon smiling mischievously as though he’d caught his brother carrying out some surreptitious plan. Marcho just glanced at him from the corner of his eye and placed his hands behind his head in a dramatic fashion. “Come now, we need to get that wood before we set out. I’m sure you, of all hobbits, want us on the road at a decent time this morning.” Blanco was right. Marcho normally would have already had his wagon packed and been complaining about how long the others were taking, but he wasn’t looking forward to entering the forest again. The scout sighed and mumbled something under his breath that might have sounded like his brother was right, but was too subtle to be sure. Standing up and hopping out of the wagon, Marcho grabbed his axe and followed his brother into the forest toward the fallen, ancient willow.