[Child of the 7th Age]

Andreth and Cook:

With one final burst of energy, Andreth sprinted into the kitchen and set down a tray overflowing with dirty luncheon dishes and cutlery; she slumped into a chair and pressed her fingers against her temples in a futile effort to relieve her throbbing head. For the past two nights, she'd had no more than a few hours of sleep. The problems and workload the displaced Breelanders had created were almost more than she and her staff could bear.

The Inn was filled to capacity. She'd soon had to insist that families double up in rooms; hobbits and big folk alike were crammed together in tight quarters, forced to cooperate and figure out a way to share the limited space and beds allotted to them. At first there had been a grumble or two, especially on the part of the Men. But, as grim news poured in from the outskirts of town that the raids and looting were intensifying and spreading, the bickering quickly subsided and folk began to cooperate.

During the day, convoys of wagons regularly set out from the Pony, loaded with volunteers of every age and race, both male and female. There had even been one or two dwarf traders stranded in town who were terrified to go out and expose themselves and their goods to the possible assault of the thieves. They too had put up at the Inn.

It was essentially a race against time: to see if the Breelanders could harvest the crops and load them into wagons faster than the outlaws could carry out their raids, which were still happening on a nightly basis. For the most part, the Breelanders were winning. They had far greater numbers than the bandits, and could gather in the crops faster than Lotar was able to launch his assaults. Still, the outsiders managed to loot one or two farmsteads every night, carrying away wagonloads of crops and possessions.

The Inn had an abundance of grains and vegetables that had been tucked away in the storerooms and cellars. The children had dutifully stacked these provisions onto the shelves and made careful lists to keep track of everything. The supply of fresh meat was not quite so bountiful. Pigs, goats, cows, and chickens were tucked away in barns and fields and even grazing in people's gardens. But the farmers were reluctant to see them slaughtered. Goat's and cow's milk was at a premium, needed for the making of cheese, chickens were zealously guarded for their eggs and the sheep for the wool blankets they provided. That left only goats and pigs for possible consumption, but even these were protected by farmers who feared that they would not have enough of their herds left to start breeding the animals again once they'd returned to their cots. Hunting was always a possibility. Yet the threat of bandits was so close, few were eager to set off into the woods on their own.

Andreth had instructed Cook to leave meat off the menu. Folk would just have to be content with other things. But this went against every natural instinct that Cook possessed and she vowed to find a way to have just a wee bit for supper. Cook was actually quite clever in how she went about this. She persuaded Will Farroweed and his cohorts to help with promises of special goodies and managed to get them organized into an early morning hunting party venturing out into the Chetwood, before they even set out to do their other chores. A steady stream of squirrel, duck, fish, and coney was slipped through the back door of the Pony, without Edmund or even Andreth totally aware of what was going on. It wasn't like the old times, but there was usually enough to cook up a mess of stew or a hearty meat broth, much to the approval of the dinner guests at the Inn.

But this morning pickings had been thin, and the valiant hunters had returned with empty hands. Cook had slipped out to the small shed, her meat cleaver in hand, eying the family of three bunnies that Edmund had brought back over a week before. She had brandished the cleaver over their small heads and was about to bring it down with a flourish when Andreth suddenly turned up out of nowhere, fussing and fuming at her for this small deception. Reluctantly, she set down her weapon and watched Andreth depart. She shook her head in open disapproval and muttered to herself, "Mistress, you're a good lady, but too soft hearted. Folks have to eat. Not all of us were meant for vegetables and such, which you seem to favor. Many of us need something a bit more filling, especially in trying times like these."

Cook turned back to the conies and lifted the smallest one up by the scruff of the neck, brandishing the cleaver about a inch in front of the rabbit's nose. "Well, Mr. Patches, you'll live for one more day. But, if I have my way, you'll see an end in the stew pot soon enough. There's too many hungry folks out there to worry about whether we have one or two less rabbits." She trounced back inside and immediately took out the flour and cheese with thoughts of concocting a mess of rarebit.

Outside the Pony, hiding in the shed that sat right beside the small animal pen and hutches, a small boy sat in misery, wondering what he could do to save his friends from Cook's certain wrath. There was no doubt in Edmund's heart. He'd had plenty of experience with Cook's stern punishments. If Cook said she meant to cleave his dear bunnies into a dozen pieces, then that was surely what she intended to do.

The question was: what could he and his other friends do to stop her?