[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Carl

Not only was his enjoyment of a delightful supper tainted by the bitterness of worry, so that he hadn’t the heart nor the stomach to volunteer to “clean” the pot, as was his usual habit, but sleep also eluded Carl. And as the others finished readying their gear and settling themselves, the darkness found the hobbit laying beside the embers, staring up at the points of light in the sky, their sparkling net so strangely familiar in this odd land. And yet these same stars wheeled their way over the former slaves and the slavers, the plantations and the Shire. All were to rest now, in the natural order of things, but try as he might to be obedient, Carl just couldn’t seem to manage it.

His evening thoughts did seem to drift always back to those two children whom the slavers had plucked from the others. How utterly frightened they must be, and for good reason. And for the hundredth time, or so it seemed, Carl was filled with a torrent of self-reproach. He should have spoken up. Weary or not, they might have pressed themselves to travel onward, at least until sleep could took them more quickly. Surely the King wouldn’t have delayed so. And the hobbit began to wonder how well Strider actually knew the group, thinking it might have been quite some time since he had last seen some of them. Aiwendil for instance, now there was a puzzle for you! Though Carl had always respected his elders, he knew that there does eventually come a time in the winter of life when even the pillars of wisdom might become a touch unsound, like a great tree that grows a bit hallow on the inside. How could Lindir be so sure of the Aiwendil’s declarations when much of the time the old man seemed more than a little eccentric? Might he not easily take them on a wild goose chase, confusing the sought after bat colony with the sought after slaves?

Shifting under his blanket with the uncomfortable thought, the hobbit’s mind felt like a caged squirrel as he struggled to think of other things. Had he tightly sealed the water skins? Yes, but he must remember to check them again before setting out. And what about Stumps? Would his peg hold? Craning his neck to reassure himself that the pony was still there, Carl saw the dear beast looking quite content among the larger horses. But a slight movement not far away caught the hobbit’s eye, and after a moment’s consideration Carl realized that it was only Lindir, sitting at the far edge of camp, his keen grey eyes keeping watch over them all. And after another moment’s consideration he thought perhaps the elf could calm his misgivings, at least enough to be able to find a bit of sleep. And so wrapping his blanket around his shoulders, the hobbit picked his way across to where Lindir sat, seating himself beside the quiet fellow. He remained silent for a while, trying to think of a good way to broach the subject.

“Nice evening, wouldn’t you say?” he spoke at last. Lindir merely nodded, seeming a bit reluctant to indulge in conversation with the hobbit. But Carl was determined to plumb the level of the elf’s confidence in Aiwendil’s latest ‘discovery’, hoping to find something to ease his own mind. So he proceeded cautiously, not altogether unmindful of the elf’s duty to keep watch, but unusually persistant all the same.