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Marcho snickered at being called the “fearless leader”. The scout was not concerned with his role being recognized in the stories…that was his brother’s wish. Marcho just wanted to live free on his own land.
“How have you been holding up on this trip?” His brother-in-law inquired with a twinkling in his eye.
“Well, to be honest, Kalimac, we haven’t been gone for a full day yet, and the people are already complaining.” Marcho looked over his shoulder at the crotchety old hobbit who had insulted him. A smirk crossed his face as he entertained the idea of sending the old codger over the hill for something and taking back off the down the road. He quickly shook the picture out of his head, and turned back to the stable-master. “Anyway, I’m a bit worried as to how they will handle being out here for the next three weeks or more.” Marcho lowered his voice as he spoke and leaned toward Kalimac so the others would not hear him. “I’m used to being on the road, but most of these folk are not. It is going to be tough on them. I just hope they don’t decide to take their frustration out on me.” The scout chuckled softly and nudged his brother-in-law with his elbow. “I will certainly be sleeping with my knife under my pillow…It looks like the ladies have our meal set.”
Without waiting for a reply, the hobbits strolled to where their wives had placed their food. Marcho had not realized how hungry he was until he smelled the salted meat and dried fruit Estella retrieved from the basket. The hobbit ate silently while he watched the folk around him. Children were playing around the wagons, while their families ate. Voices could be heard singing somewhere toward the back of the group, and a few of the older members were found napping in the backs of carts or in the grass. Marcho was suddenly overwhelmed by the responsibility he had. These fine folk trusted him to lead them well and keep them safe. He hoped he would be able to live up to their expectations.
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