[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The day wound on toward noon and the grumbling among the hobbits became more and more pointed. Breakfast had, for most of them, been a rushed and all too unsatisfactory affair as they had readied themselves for the journey. Most had expected that there would be a feast – or at the very least a small picnic – at the West Gate to celebrate their adventure, and had been exceedingly disappointed when the Bolger brothers led them away without so much as a dry biscuit. Their hopes had then turned to Second Breakfast and Elevenses, but these also passed without remark from their leaders. As the time for Luncheon approached, the snacks had all been eaten, the picnic baskets emptied and the last of the pocket treats devoured, and more than a few of the hobbits were beginning to wonder if this adventure was such a good idea after all.

Fordogrim followed behind the family cart lost in his own thoughts. Occasionally, Harold would look back to see how his father was doing. Each time he did so, Fordogrim made sure to grimace at his son as darkly as he could, lest he should forget how opposed Fordogrim was to the whole venture. Once, Sarah looked back at him and smiled warmly, but he was not deterred, returning her look with only a scowl. It’s all well and good for you to enjoy yourself, he thought. What about them as had no choice in coming? Prim and I didn’t raise no son who’d a-come along on this crack-brained journey – I know who led him into it.

Of his whole family, only May had expressed any resistance to the idea, and while Fordogrim could not agree with her enthusiasm for the journey, he heartily approved of her fiery outburst against her parents. Indeed, of his children and grandchildren, May held a special place in his heart, for she was probably the most like him. She met his gaze and gave him a grim smile, the best she could manage through her foul mood, which was the perfect match to Fordogrim’s own. He grimaced back at her and felt the odd kind of warmth about his heart that comes only to an extremely angry hobbit who realises that he is not alone in his fury.

Fordogrim’s mood grew worse and worse as they plodded into the west. He did not like things he did not know, and it had taken only an hour of travelling for them to leave behind the landscape he was familiar with. He had, in his youth, travelled extensively to the east of Bree, but the west was like the far side of the moon to him. As the hours moved by without any sign of food or stopping, his mood grew worse. What happened was not really his fault, for it was Stout (Fordogrim was sure) who quickened his pace to bring his old master level with the Bolger boys at the front of the slow moving convoy. For a while, Fordogrim plodded along beside them, looking neither left nor right. When, finally, one of the brothers asked if there were something he wanted, Fordogrim frowned for a moment before responding. “There’s a lot of folk here who aren’t used to a-tracking through the countryside like some others I could name,” he began. “And many more whose stomachs need filling on a more regular basis. Now I don’t pretend to know much about all this – I’ve never been one to decide what’s right for other folk, and I can’t ever recall a-taking it on myself to up and lead hundreds of sensible hobbits into the Wild for reasons about as solid as a morning dew in July, but I do know this: hobbits need food and ponies need rest. Now unless you plan on getting us all to these White Fields or whatever you plan on calling them, before nightfall, I would think that a break might be just about the thing that everyone needs to lift their spirits.” And with that, he lapsed into a monumental silence and stopped Stout in his tracks.