[Child of the 7th Age]

"Oh, no, Cook. We're not up to mischief. The boys called me out to the wagon. There was a lady, a strange lady. When we reached the courtyard, she fainted dead away." Hawthorn pointed over at the woman who now lay sprawling in the wing chair.

As leary as Hawthorn was of Cook's booming voice, she was even more curious about who this stranger was. Steeling herself for an expected reprimand from Cook, she rushed over to the stranger's side, kneeling down beside the chair. Instinctively, she reached out with her hand to comfort the woman, and also to push the thick mop of curls out of the way so that she could clearly see her features. The stranger was a tiny thing, even for a hobbit. Her face was pale and wan, her clothing little more than a bundle of dirty rags. There were blue hollows under her eyes, and a wrinkle or two creased her face. Her frame was so slender that it looked as if a good wind could blow her away. Hawthorn could see that what had once been a mane of flaming red hair was now grey with tinges of white. It was also throughly bedraggled.

"Oh, my," gasped the tweener, "She's old. Maybe she's dead." Hawthorne poked her finger into the hobbit's ribcage to see if the body would respond.

Cook quickly put a stop to that. "Old, my foot, Hawthorn Brandybuck! Whoever she is, she's no more than seventy. She has a few good years left in her, if we can help her tidy up." Cook shook her head and looked appropriately stern. It was typical of a sweet tweener blunderhead like Hawthorne to think that a hobbit of seventy had one foot in the grave. But it did seem strange that someone of this sort would be wandering around by herself hidden in the back of a wagon.

By now, a considerable crowd of onlookers had gathered, mostly hobbits attending the party who were curious about who this stranger might be. Cook shot a sharp glance to the mob crowding into her kitchen, noting, "Out of here, now. But, before you leave, can anyone kindly tell me who this missus is? "

Hobbits know other hobbits extremely well, especially since so many of them are related. It would be very rare for a hobbit to visit the Inn and not be recognized by at least one of their distant kin or neighbors. Yet, one-by-one, each hobbit admitted they had no idea who the stranger was. Even old Granny, who made a point to keep track of such things, swore she had never seen the woman before.

At this point the tiny stranger slowly began to stir. She pressed her hand to her brow as if trying to remember something, staring quizzicaly at everyone around her, and finally spoke, "You're hobbits?" she pronounced the word oddly, as if it was a term she had rarely used.

"Of course, we're hobbits, "spluttered Hawthorn. "Who else should we be? But who are you, and what are you doing here?"

Weakly, she replied. "I am Bella.....Belladonna Took, the daughter of Hildifons Took, now deceased. Just look in the Red Book. You'll see his name inscribed there with the other Took kin. And I am here looking for Cami Goodchild. Please, could someone go out to the wagon and rescue my books. There's quite a pack of them." Then the unnamed stranger fainted dead away, and no amount of poking by Hawthorn could arouse her.

At the mention of the last name, Cook gasped, remembering something the old Innkeeper Pio had once confided to her..... The name 'Hildifons Took' was also familiar, although she would bet that none of the young hobbits had ever heard of it. The Tooks had generally been careful to hush up that story.