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Marcho sighed as he sat in the front of his wagon already holding onto the reins of the horses. The sun had not been up long, but he already felt they were wasting time. He might have started on his own had Estella not been saying her farewells to what seemed like all the women, both big and small, in Bree. Squeezing the reins tightly, the hobbit lowered his head and closed his eyes letting his shaggy hair hang.
A hand pressed down on his shoulder and Marcho, startled, jerked his head up. A familiar laugh greeted him immediately. “Calm down, brother. We haven’t left yet and you already appear to be a nervous wreck.” Blanco continued to chuckle as he leaned against the wagon.
“I’m not nervous,” Marcho snapped causing Blanco to step back and raise his hands in surrender. Looking over his shoulder at the hobbits behind him, the older brother continued, “We are wasting daylight. We should have already pulled out from here.”
“This is a big day, Marcho. You can’t expect folk to pack up and leave the only home most of them have ever known without making a to-do about it. Look up, the weather is perfect, and turn-out is better than we expected.”
Marcho nodded slowly in agreement but remained silent. The hobbit had been dreaming of this day for years, even though only recently the destination had been decided. Now that the time had come, he felt strangely surreal, and he half expected a terrible storm to blow up or something disastrous to occur that would prevent their leaving. Checking the sky once more, just in case, Marcho sighed again this time with relief. The sky was clear, so there was no evidence his negative thoughts were changing the weather.
“Go back to your wagon, Blanco. It’s time to go.” Without waiting for his brother’s reply, Marcho stepped down and walked hastily to his wife who was chatting with a local farmer’s wife. He gently placed his hand on the small of her back and whispered in her ear, “It’s time.”
“Yes, dear,” Estella smiled brightly at her husband and quickly excused herself from the other woman. The couple marched through the crowd, Marcho nodding to the gentlemen who caught his eye, and Estella calling out her praises to all the folk that were staying behind. As soon as they reached the wagon, Estella stopped short. “Oh, Marcho, just one moment, I must check on father before we go.” Marcho, who thought that they would at last be pulling away from the gate, sunk back in the seat and nodded at his beautiful wife.
After several minutes, Estella returned and Marcho got his wish. He shook the reins, his two mares responded, and the wagon began to roll. The rest of the folk pulled in behind him, and the hobbits began what many years later would be known as the last great hobbit migration.
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