[Firefoot]

Camp that night was about as cheery as could be, under the circumstances. They made camp fairly early for various reasons, the most prominent one being to catch some fish, but also so that they might rest. They had had little sleep and most were unaccustomed to such long days of hiking. Feet were sore and everyone was relieved at the chance to sit down. Sassy volunteered some fishing line which she had found in a pocket, and make-shift poles were made from branches. A few hobbits were set up with fishing poles by the river, but after an hour or so they had still caught only two fish, and those not particularly large. No one wanted to wait any longer for their dinners, and so the two fish were cooked at their little campfire and they had a fair meal when combined with the food left over from lunch. Certainly, it was not up to hobbit standards and any one of them could have done with a bit more food, but they weren’t precisely hungry any more.

What concerned Sondo was that now they really were out of food. They would be relying solely on their abilities to find and catch food, and from what he could see wildlife was none too plentiful. Besides, catching food took time. His outlook was bleak, for just the same as he had not known how far away Sarn Ford was, so also did he not know how far away from home they were. He tried to cheer himself by thinking they were doing all right so far and it would get better, but underneath it all he was worried. In his fourteen years of life he had never gone without; now, adventure or not, they had very few basic means for survival. Luckily, there was a clear stream not far from their camp; he did not fancy drinking the muddy waters of the Brandywine. But what would they do if they did not find fresh water? They had no water bottles. He was worried, very worried. Already he had been criticized for his leadership, though nothing yet was truly his fault. What would happen when they went hungry? The responsibilities associated with the title “leader” were being heaped on him like never before. What was he to do?

Nevertheless, he tried to keep a friendly, cheerful attitude for the sake of the other hobbits. They trusted him, to a greater or lesser degree, and he did his best. Even in his grim outlook, he was having fun now. Surely that counted for something. So he tried to put off the negative thoughts and joined the banter surrounding the fire until it began to get dark and hobbits started yawning.

A mention of standing watch through the night was made. A couple looked surprised that it might be necessary, and for himself Sondo had not even thought of it; others appeared concerned that it might be necessary. It sounded like a good “just-in-case” type of plan, and so most of the hobbits agreed fairly readily. So they drew lots for watches, and Sondo sighed resignedly at getting one smack in the middle of the night. He had wanted a good night’s rest.

He fell asleep soon enough, though, and slept deeply until he was awakened abruptly just past midnight for his watch. He got up tiredly and found a rock to sit down upon. For the most part, his watch was uneventful as he had expected. He had told Falco that morning that he heard wolves during the night, even though he actually hadn’t, because it seemed a good argument in the heat of the moment. Now, however, he really did hear them. They sounded far off but it was chilling nonetheless. Such a tangible threat was not lightly shaken off. The howls faded, however, and he heard no more during his watch.

~*~*~*~

The next few days were increasingly dreary. In the morning of their first full day since the split, they left the woods behind and the ground became increasingly more hilly. At first, they tried to continue to stay close to the river, but the bank was extremely uneven and in staying a little further back they were forced to continue up and down the hills. This was extremely tiring, and during their “lunch break” (they still called it this even though there was no lunch to be had) they decided to stay in the ravines between the hills in order to avoid the continuous climbing. In theory, this was a good idea, but in practice it led them further and further from the river, even though they tried to keep left. Ultimately, they were too worn out and hungry to realize just how far they had strayed from their path; it turned out that by the time they stopped the river was not even in sight on top of the hills. All Sondo was sure of was that they were heading more or less north.

The following days continued in much the same way. Hunger became almost constant, for the land was basically void of any edible vegetation, and only once did the succeed in catching a scrawny coney in the snares they left overnight. It had tasted good that night, but the end result was that it merely sharpened their hunger in the following day. Along with the hunger came weariness; they had sleep enough but without food to sustain the energy needed for their hiking, they were all but spent. And the grime! None of them had had a proper bath in days, and there was no getting away from the dirt of travelling. No more mention was made of breaking off of their main path and venturing east; they mostly wanted to go home now if only for the reason of having their needs taken care of. What he wouldn’t do for a hot meal and bath followed by sleep in a real bed. Sondo’s attempts at cheering the others became fewer and less convincing, for he himself was able to find little cheer. Also contributing was the stark absence of Falco and Reggie. Though only mentioned in whispers if at all, they were all sharply aware of the empty spaces. Several time did he wonder how the pair were making out, and whether they had made it to Sarn Ford and found supplies. Perhaps Falco had had the right idea after all; it was certainly taking them long enough to get anywhere - maybe Sarn Ford had been closer than he realized. But there was no going back.

They had continued to keep watch at night, as well, more for the sake of doing it than for any other reason, for as yet no threat had been detected. Sondo did not hear the wolves any more until several days later; he was pretty sure it was the seventh night since they had left Buckland. He could not believe that they had only been out a week; it seemed so much longer. He was not sure that they foreboded well, but passed it off. Their situation could not get much worse, and he thought that if the wolves were going to come after them they would have done so already. During these lonely watches he had only his memories and dreams to sustain him: memories of those first few days, and wistful dreams of how their adventure might have gone. For all their miserable conditions, adventure to him was still very much romanticized. Adventurers went off and after beating off the bad guys and maybe fighting a battle or two came home with treasure and none the worse for wear. This adventure was going all wrong! Adventurers were not always tired and hungry. They did not have to face mutiny. He would not let himself face the truth, that adventure wasn’t always what the stories made it out to be. He wouldn’t, or couldn’t, maybe, for then all hope he had in this venture would disappear completely. He was convinced that there had to be something more to it.

But so far there wasn’t. And after five days since the raft had crashed, Sondo had lost all hope that there would be. Even without hope, though, he kept on believing that it would get better. It had to. They set camp yet once again on the eighth evening. It would get better.