[Amanaduial the archer]

As twilight settled across the undulating hills and rolling hills, the farmers and field workers of the Shire set off home, and the sherpherds and cow-herds began to set off home. One such shepherd, a certain Calico Proudfoot, started from his peaceful half-doze under a widebrimmed horsechestnut tree as he heard the sound of pounding hooves, many of them by the sound of it. Sitting sharply upright, Calico pushed the worn, fraying straw hat back from his eyes and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes surreptitiously as he gathered his wits, before standing a little unsteadily, attempting nonchalantly to flatten the creases out of his dungarees. Looking more closely at aforementioned creases, he rubbed at them a little harder, a wrinkle building in his young brow - why, his wife would have his guts for garters if he appeared home in this state! Ah, Buttercup Proudfoot, belle of Near Bag End, as radiant and dainty and glowing as her namesake. A regular... Calico struggled in his mind to think of some way to describe his wife, before giving up. Well, she was lovely anyway, and once her reluctant father had acquiested Calico's tentative request for her hand in marriage six months ago, Buttercup and Calico had been joined for all eternity. Only eternities were, well, rather funny things: Calico could swear he had already seen a fair few of them pass by with his fair wife by his side.

Not that she wasn't lovely, the gentle spirited hobbit-tween ammended hastily, even in his mind feeling guilty for any word against Buttercup, but, well, she was rather...domineering. He gave a pleased little smile at this thought, rather proud of such complex wording. Yes, that's right, she was domineering, and if anyman was to say any worse, he'd have their guts for garters. He paused, a small frown appearing once more on his chubby face as he considered the idea. Well, he wouldn't, being as he didn't wear garters and all, but...well, certainly someone would have their guts for garters, or some other part of their clothing. Maybe his little wife would like them for her garters? Well, maybe not, don't suppose Buttercup would be very into guts being worn as any sort of clothing...

So caught up was he in such a complex and confusing line of thought about who exactly would be wearing wear whose entrails, the many hooves had completely slipped his mind, only to be remembered when a polite cough came from nearby. Calico jumped a clear inch off the ground, one pudgy hand whipping up to tyhe top of his head to steady his hat as he looked around, wide-eyed. When he saw the owner of said polite cough, he took another step backwards...then another, just for good measure. "Oh....um...oh," he stammered uneasily, hand still clutching the top of his hat. In front of him rose an altogether rather menacing looking figure: a darkly cloaked rider, it's features obscured by the setting sun behind which cast an eerie glow of red and gold around it. It silently regarded him from atop a giant black horse, about seventeen inches high and dark as the night; beside this darksome beast stood another, smaller horse, an unmoving statue seemingly carved of fine, flecked stone, it's grey coat seeming to change colour subtly at the edge of the eyesight, greys, blacks and whites all playing a part in the dappled beauty. Both horses breathed heavily, and Calico could not help noticing that the black horse's panting definitely had a decidedly menacing edge to it; and horsey, what large nostrils you have...

Altogether a rather unsettling image for a young hobbit of an evening.

"Oh-h-h..." Calico moaned quietly, his saucer eyes gazing up at the black beast less than two feet away.

The rider's head tilted to one side and Calico gave a stifled gasp and shut his eyes tightly. There was a rather embarassed pause before a voice spoke. "Are...are you alright, sir?"

Calico frowned slightly, but did not open his eyes. Certainly, that did not sound like him much like the ghastly intonation of a dread horseman from t'other side of Doom. For one thing, it was female. Still, you never knew what sorts of new fangled tricks were being thought up on t'other side of Doom, and so Calico kept his eyes tightly shut. Still, it was nice of 'it' to ask, even if it was a dread horseman from t'other side of Doom, so, ever a well-mannered boy, the hobbit nodded tightly and gave a muted, strangled sound of affirmation from pursed lips. Deciding maybe more was needed, he managed, "Yes, thank you," still with his eyes closed. Naturally.

There was a pause and the distinct sound of someone licking their lips uncertainly. "Oh. Good. Well, I was just wondering if you would maybe like some help gathering in...your...sheep?"

Calico gasped and his eyes very nearly opened although he restrained himself just in time. "How did you know I was a shepherd?!"

Pause. "The...sheep. They....well, I'm afraid they rather gave it away," came the steady reply. Although it was perfectly courteous, Calico was almost - almost - sure that he heard it tinged with a smile. Did dread horsemen smile? Who knows...certainly it was an altogether more Brandybuck-like business than Calico liked to contemplate.

"Oh. No, thank you, sir horseman."

"Sure?"

"No, thank'ee. I'm sure you have other...business to attend to."

"Oh. Right. Ok, well, it's just...I didn't...well, alright." There was a second's stop, then the rider burst out, "It's just that they're all scattered and-"

"I think you may have scared them, sir horseman."

There was yet another lengthy and slightly embarassed pause, followed by an exasperated sigh, a few clicking noises - some black tongue?! - before the hooves started to move again, and the rider began to ride off, slowly.

"Sir- hmm. We- hmm. I- hmm." Pause. "Well, then I shall bid you good evening, sir. And I hope to see you at the handfasting!"

The last words were almost obscured by the sound of eight hooves as they sped up, but Calico was sure of what he had heard, and his eyes opened wide as he whirled around to look after the rider, but saw only a disappearing back riding down the hill, topped by what certainly looked like - and maybe it was a trick of the mind, or the eye, or whoever else likes to interfere with sight - what certainly looked like a pair of scruffy light brown pigtails streaming back. As only the head was still in view, the rider raised a hand and waved back to Calico, before it disappeared altogether.

Calico stayed completely still for some time even after the sound of hooves had disappeared, staring in the direction the rider had gone. Had he heard right? Had he seen right?! A female dread rider, waving back, talking of help and handfasting... Calico shook himself vigourously, is chubby face all a-quiver as he leant down to pick up his crook. Something here was certainly not right. Still, now he came to think about it - well, you got all sorts at the Green Dragon, not a mile hence. Folk from all over, and others who had seen all over - surely one of them would be able to explain? Certainly he couldn't come home so a-quiver to his fine but domineering wife, dirty dungarees and all, and have no solid and reliable proof from a-man-in-an-Inn that he was not just making up the darksome rider from t'other side of doom with two horses and helpful talk and a woman's voice and...and...pigtails...

As Calico firmed up the image of the rider in his head, herding his sheep absently down the hillside to his modest farm, the 'darksome rider' arrived back after two days in the courtyard of the Green Dragon Inn, and dismounted to greet Merimac with a grin.

"Evening, Miz Aman..."