[alaklondewen]

Ummph! All of the air in the round hobbit’s lungs was forced from his body as he thudded against the damp and unyielding forest floor. Sweeping his unruly red curls from his forehead, he managed to smear the mud, which was now caked on the palms of both of his hands, across his face and into his hair. He could feel the coolness of the wet mud seeping through is breeches. Cursing under his breath, he swore if his clothes were ruined those Chubb brats would work off their cost. “With interest,” he snarled. It was their fault he was out here tramping through the woods, unaccompanied, in the dark, and now his expensive attire was soiled. They, that Henry and Mayflower Chubb, always seemed to be having some sort of fun, and they certainly had never asked him to join them. Who did they think they were? They’re nobody, just a couple of ruggers. But he, he was a Fallohide, from a prosperous family. Why his daddy was going to run the show when they got to the new land. He’d work for his father, of course, and be above those Chubbs, as if he wasn’t already. They should be so lucky as to have him around to befriend. The only choice he had was to follow them on this little escapade through the forest and demand he be allowed to join once he caught up to them. They couldn’t refuse…not with his reputation.

Pushing his weight up with his arms, he tried to get up from the ground, but immediately tripped again and landed in the same place. It was as if the trees themselves were tripping him. They’d better not try to hurt me, he thought. Daddy, would just hire some Big Folk to cut them trees down. They’d be sorry then.

Crawling along as quickly and soundlessly as he could was proving to be a rather difficult task. Every once in a while, his knees would slip and his belly would drag on the floor, but he could hear their voices just ahead, so he kept on creeping up as best he could. The element of surprise would surely seal the deal. He’d have them where he wanted, and then he'd spring out from behind a tree. The tween chuckled to himself.

Then, from the shadows beyond his prey, a series of blood-curdling howls froze the hobbit in his tracks. He could feel the hair rise on his toes. Darting his eyes to and fro, he saw nothing but shadows within shadows. As he contemplated his next course of action, sweat began to bead along his forehead and his heart seemed to be beating in his throat. Sheer panic overcame him, and he leapt to his feet and stumbled through the trees yelping as he went. “Help! Help! Henry, May! Help!” As he tottered into the small grove where the young hobbits were resting, four shocked faces turned to him wide-eyed.

“Why, Adelard Proudfoot, what is the matter with you and why are you making all that noise?” Mayflower Chubb stood and immediately confronted the hobbit.

Adelard stopped short, realizing his utter foolishness, and tried to regain his composure. Placing his hands on his hips, he straightened his face and stuck his short nose in the air. “I knew you’d be scared of those wolves out there, and I knew you’d be scared of me too if I came runnin’ through here. And you were too, I know it!” Yup, they wouldn’t think he was the one that was afraid now. Yet May tipped her head to one side and looked at him disapprovingly. That May, she sure is pretty…for a rugger anyway.

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ArwenBaggins' post for Crispin:


“An’ who are you?” Crispin narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow toward the newcomer. Anyone who was going to come and barge in on what was going to be his chance to save everyone needed to be set straight.

The new hobbit took his eyes off May for a second and straightened his coat, trying to indicate his conceited authority. “I am Adelard Proudfoot,” He looked over to Crispin and frowned; Crispin could have sworn he saw and heard a snarl.

Tightening his grip on the stick he held white-knuckled, another unnerving howl was emitted from the dark wood around them. Ruffling Alora’s hair and giving off a fake smile, he held his sister’s hand as if it was the only thing in the world to hold on too. Don’ let’m know I’m scared. I’m a Whitfoot… we don’ get scared in the woods! He cleared his throat and cast a swift glance to Adelard, huffing angrily at the new hobbit that seemed to be competition.