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Child of the 7th Age · 09-06-2003, 07:54 PM

28 October

Hob shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and stared down intently at the floor, as he repeated Ferny's words inside his own head for the hundreth time. He wasn't surprised the Shirriffs had been ordered to spy on the Tooks. That kind of thing was going on daily in every nook and cranny of the Shire. He didn't like the part about dividing up the property that belonged to the family, but even that was nothing new. Hob had seen folk turned out of their burrows and their possessions hauled off without as much as a 'by your leave'.

No, the thing that bothered him was those few words spoken near the end of Ferny's speech.....And when all the Tooks are...gone. Gone? Just exactly where were they going? If Ferny had said 'driven out of their burrow' or 'carted off to the Lockholes', that wouldn't have been quite so bad. But Hob didn't like the sound of that little word 'gone'. It seemed so very...final.

Hob ruefully remembered something Cami had told him about the history of the Shire. That ever since their people had settled here, there'd not been a single case of one hobbit intentionally murdering another. He figured she must have been right, since she was always poking about in one book or another.

Hob looked away and shuddered. Whatever Ferny might say or do, Hob was not going to be party to such a thing. He'd rather run away or be dragged off to the Lockholes. Anything was better than helping murder another hobbit. He wouldn't even do that to the Chief, although he'd sometimes wished he could give Lotho a good hiding for all the trouble he'd stirred up in the Shire.

Hob fidgeted deep in his picket and drew out a ratty scrap of paper that had been folded over any number of times. He set it down in front of him and carefully smoothed out the creases, rereading one part of it again:

Dearest Hob,

....Mother wants me to promise to set a date for our wedding. She says it's time I settle down like a sensible hobbit lass.

Well, perhaps it is time to wed and raise a burrowful of young ones. I'd like to stop taking care of other people's children and take care of our own. I'm quite ready to do that except for one thing.

Hob Fields - Cami Goodchild is not going to marry anyone who calls Lotho Sackville-Baggins his Chief. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever...

So if you want to carry me over your threshold, you'll have to choose. You can be a Shirriff and live by yourself, or you can say 'no' to Ferny and his crew, and come to Buckland to marry me. I just can't believe you bought into their lies. All this claptrap about bringing about improvements in the Shire with machines and such! If you believe that, you'll believe anything.

All these folk want, pure and simple, is to take over the Shire. And if they can't do it by peaceful means, they'll likely kill us off one by one.

Don't say I didn't warn you!

So Hob...it's up to you. You decide what to do. But until you decide, this is the last letter you'll have from me.

Your sorrowful sweetheart,

Cami

Hob set down the letter and sighed. Perhaps Cami had been right. Perhaps these folk weren't only greedy but murderers to boot. Perhaps Lotho's words about helping the Shire were only a smoke screen. But exactly what was he supposed to do? He was just one small hobbit in the middle of a big mess.

Hob looked over at Brass and Olo who still stood near the door. He just couldn't deal with these difficult thoughts today. Not with Ferny breathing down his neck and these two fellows likely keeping an eye on every move he made.

Hob went up to Brass and Olo, and tugged on their sleeves, thinking it might be wise to try and make some friends. Supporters of Ferny or not, at least they were hobbits. "Hey you two, I've got some pipeweed and a bit o' ale that I managed to rescue from the Big Folk's private stores. Either of you care to join me under the bridge and just relax for an hour or two? We can get our travel satchels together later today. After all, tomorrow morning will come soon enough."

[ September 06, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

09-06-2003, 07:54 PM	#19
Child of the 7th Age Spirit of the Lonely Star Join Date: Mar 2002 Posts: 5,135	28 October Hob shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and stared down intently at the floor, as he repeated Ferny's words inside his own head for the hundreth time. He wasn't surprised the Shirriffs had been ordered to spy on the Tooks. That kind of thing was going on daily in every nook and cranny of the Shire. He didn't like the part about dividing up the property that belonged to the family, but even that was nothing new. Hob had seen folk turned out of their burrows and their possessions hauled off without as much as a 'by your leave'. No, the thing that bothered him was those few words spoken near the end of Ferny's speech.....And when all the Tooks are...gone. Gone? Just exactly where were they going? If Ferny had said 'driven out of their burrow' or 'carted off to the Lockholes', that wouldn't have been quite so bad. But Hob didn't like the sound of that little word 'gone'. It seemed so very...final. Hob ruefully remembered something Cami had told him about the history of the Shire. That ever since their people had settled here, there'd not been a single case of one hobbit intentionally murdering another. He figured she must have been right, since she was always poking about in one book or another. Hob looked away and shuddered. Whatever Ferny might say or do, Hob was not going to be party to such a thing. He'd rather run away or be dragged off to the Lockholes. Anything was better than helping murder another hobbit. He wouldn't even do that to the Chief, although he'd sometimes wished he could give Lotho a good hiding for all the trouble he'd stirred up in the Shire. Hob fidgeted deep in his picket and drew out a ratty scrap of paper that had been folded over any number of times. He set it down in front of him and carefully smoothed out the creases, rereading one part of it again: Dearest Hob, ....Mother wants me to promise to set a date for our wedding. She says it's time I settle down like a sensible hobbit lass. Well, perhaps it is time to wed and raise a burrowful of young ones. I'd like to stop taking care of other people's children and take care of our own. I'm quite ready to do that except for one thing. Hob Fields - Cami Goodchild is not going to marry anyone who calls Lotho Sackville-Baggins his Chief. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever... So if you want to carry me over your threshold, you'll have to choose. You can be a Shirriff and live by yourself, or you can say 'no' to Ferny and his crew, and come to Buckland to marry me. I just can't believe you bought into their lies. All this claptrap about bringing about improvements in the Shire with machines and such! If you believe that, you'll believe anything. All these folk want, pure and simple, is to take over the Shire. And if they can't do it by peaceful means, they'll likely kill us off one by one. Don't say I didn't warn you! So Hob...it's up to you. You decide what to do. But until you decide, this is the last letter you'll have from me. Your sorrowful sweetheart, Cami Hob set down the letter and sighed. Perhaps Cami had been right. Perhaps these folk weren't only greedy but murderers to boot. Perhaps Lotho's words about helping the Shire were only a smoke screen. But exactly what was he supposed to do? He was just one small hobbit in the middle of a big mess. Hob looked over at Brass and Olo who still stood near the door. He just couldn't deal with these difficult thoughts today. Not with Ferny breathing down his neck and these two fellows likely keeping an eye on every move he made. Hob went up to Brass and Olo, and tugged on their sleeves, thinking it might be wise to try and make some friends. Supporters of Ferny or not, at least they were hobbits. "Hey you two, I've got some pipeweed and a bit o' ale that I managed to rescue from the Big Folk's private stores. Either of you care to join me under the bridge and just relax for an hour or two? We can get our travel satchels together later today. After all, tomorrow morning will come soon enough." [ September 06, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ] __________________ Multitasking women are never too busy to vote.