[Fordim Hedgethistle]

My Dearest Prim,

I’m sorry I’ve not written all week, but I’ve not known how to put the news to you. Not in any way that you could take it well, if you get my meaning (but you always could).

You’ll remember in my last note I was telling you about those young Masters Bolger talking a lot of cracked ideas and a-trying to mislead the folk hereabout into leaving Bree for some place in the Wild out past some river called the Brandywine. You’ll never believe it when I tell you that not only did they manage to convince some seemingly-sensible hobbit-folk to go, but they managed to convince almost half the hobbits of Bree to sell out, pack up, and head off for their wild land. I’ve always said that there was something odd about those Bolgers and now I’ve got all the proof I need to show others that I’ve been right!

But now comes the part that you’ll never credit. Our son Harold and his wife have up and decided to join those Bolgers on the road away from all that they’ve known; and them with those two little children and all as well. To tell the truth, I don’t think that our son’s full heart is in the venture, but the Whitfoots didn’t leave him much choice. They’ve sold all our land – even your little side garden – to some of the Big Folk who are going to go about “improving” the land with a couple of ruddy great buildings. Those Big Folk are all alike, and just like their buildings come to think on it: full of gears and clanks what nobody needs. If there is a silver lining to this madcap adventure, it will be that I can settle somewhere far from the likes of them!

But now we come to the hardest part to tell my dear, and I wish more than anything that I didn’t have to do it but – I’m to go with them. At first I said that there was no taking me away from the land, but Harold and Sarah were set for it. They both said that they couldn’t leave me here alone, although how I’d be alone with so many sensible hobbits hereabouts who know better than to abandon their homes… But there I go getting into a fight that lasted most of the week, and doesn’t look to be ending any time soon, neither.

I will write to you from the road my dearest, whenever I have the chance. I hope that you are well and happy. I miss you awfully.

Your husband,

Grim

Fordogrim opened his eyes and looked at the gathering crowd of those who were to leave, and the even larger crowd that had come to see them off. He had to admit, it was a stirring sight. Whole families of hobbits were crammed into their small carts or riding ponies – some were even on foot. Whatever the Bolger boys had hoped for, they would not be getting very far today, or any other day for that matter. Fordogrim snorted in disgust and leaned forward to pat Stout’s neck. “Well my old lad, did you ever think we’d spend our last years mucking about in the fields again?” The pony turned his aged head toward Fordogrim and whinnied lightly. Fordogrim chuckled. “A truer word has never been said my boy.”

He looked over at the cart where his son’s family was gathered and glared at Sarah. He knew who it was who had pushed his son into this, and he would not forget it either. He looked at the two little ones Mayflower and Henry and felt a sudden flush of concern for them on the long road ahead.

A familiar cry from the crowd called his attention back to the present and he turned to see his oldest friend Halfast Headstrong hobbling toward him. Fordogrim smiled warmly at the weathered face of his friend and slid off Stout’s back as nimbly as he could. Halfast puffed up to Fordogrim, speaking as he walked. “I’m so glad I was able to find you in this crowd! I was afraid that you’d all be gone before I could take my farewells.”

“Not much to worry about there Hal. From the looks of things I’d say it will take another week just to get this crowd moving.” But even as he spoke the Bolger boys were putting the final arrangements in order and the hobbits who were bound for the west began to move slowly away from the hill. Fordogrim looked at his old friend and did not know what to say. After a moment he asked, “Has your son decided to go along with us? I didn’t see him here.”

Halfast scowled darkly. “Yes, Fredigar is going with those Bolger boys. He has ideas about organising a ‘proper force of Shirrifs’ in the new land. I told him and told him to stay but he wouldn’t listen to me. Why I may never see him again…” he trailed off, looking at his old friend, and the tears started in his eyes. “Fordogrim,” he began again, “we’ve known each other most our lives, I…” but once more he trailed off.

Fordogrim put on his gruffest expression and said, “There there, Hal, none of that. A short good-bye for a long road.” He paused for a moment before lowering his voice. “There is one thing I would like to ask of you, though. Primrose’s grave will need tending, do you think you could look in on her from time to time?” Hal was only able to reply with a dumb nod. Fordogrim bit back the tears that he felt tickling the edge of his eyes. “All right, then, good. That’s awful decent of you my lad – but I’ve always said you were the solidest hobbit of my experience.” They looked at one another for a long moment, and then silently shook hands.

“Good-bye my old friend,” said Hal. Fordogrim merely nodded. Then, climbing up on Stout joined the slowly moving line of hobbits into the west. The Gate fell away behind them and the hill dwindled into the distance until, finally, it disappeared. And not once did Fordogrim look back.