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As the wagon pulled to a stop at the top of the hill, Alora and Crispin clambered up to the front of the wagon with their parents for a better view. Elsa gazed, enchanted, at the land stretching away before them. The family observed their new homeland in silence. Crispin, sitting on his father’s lap, was chewing on a piece of hay again. Elsa noticed, but she was unwilling to shatter the moment, so she said nothing. She was feeling a good deal more sympathetic toward Crispin anyway, ever since his arrest.
As the last few wagons and carts pulled up to the crest of the hill, the caravan shared an unarranged moment of silence. Then the hobbits broke out into hearty cheering. Shouts echoed between the hills, and it seemed almost as if the new land was shouting back, welcoming them. Several children jumped from the neighboring wagons and threw themselves down the other side of the hill, laughing as they rolled through grass still sodden from the rain. “Well, go on!” Elsa said to her children. Alora and Crispin did not need to be told twice. They clambered over the front of the wagon and were gone.
Smiling, Elsa gazed again at the land, its beauty overwhelming her. This land-- our land! It’s what we’ve been working for. We’re finally here! This is the land where we can live away from the big folk. This is our new home! She jumped down from the wagon. The ground looked strangely blurred, and she had a suspicion that she might be crying. Reaching down, she gently pushed aside a tuft of emerald grass and scooped up a handful of dark earth. Standing up she let the rich soil run through her fingers. A homeland; a land to call our own.
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