[Imladris]

Olo heaved loudly and wiped the streaming sweat from his brow. Beads of moisture glistened on his lips and he wiped them with his tongue, enjoying the salty taste. He looked impatiently ahead of him, at Hob running so swiftly across the land -- curse the hobbit for his swift feet. That Hob...much too kindly for a shirrif, Olo mused, raising his head to squint a little at the hobbit. Burdened under the corpulent body of Olo, his feet, weary as they were from the added strain of walking briskly across the Shire, stumbled upon an innocent stone that sent Olo Underfoot stumbling and rolling down a slight incline like a filled winebottle upon a disgruntled river. His shrieks could be heard rising through the air like a flock of crows as the lumps of earth poked his ribs (how they managed to find his ribs under the rolls of fat, Olo never could imagine). After some time, his tumbling roll slowed and finally, reluctantly, came to a stop. He lay still eyes closed. What bones have I broken? he whispered into the green grass. He smiled gently, licking a bit of blood from his lips. They shoudl be coming now, rushing to my aide, showering comorting upon my waiting ears. He heard a rustle and, slowly forcing one pig eye open, he saw that it was a mere rabbit. Drat and blast! Where are they? Raising his sagging self to a sitting position (his back creaking agonizingly all the while) he squinted his eyes from the baleful glare of the sun, and looked about him. Oh, there were the hobbits! he thought angrily as he saw them merrily ambling...think of that: merely ambling to his, his aide. Was he not Olo Underfoot, shirrif of the Shire, he thought indignantly as he waited from them to leisurely approach.

After a long while ( too long ) Olo thought ominously, the other hobbits, Brass and Hob, finally reached him and plopped beside him in the long grass: Hob fidgeting nervously and Brass rolling onto his back, chewing upon a piece of grass. Clearing hsi throat, Olo said, "Now we need to reach the Smials by evening, nightfall at the latest. That means no stragglers ," he said, wagging a pudgy finger into Brass's face. "Neither should we we plowing forward like a pony anxious to the feed," he added, rounding upon Hob fiercely. "Now," he said, fishing in his pocket for the stolen weed and a pipe. "We are going to have a smoke, me mates, and then we are going to walk at a suitable pace for the Smials." He fished some weed from the stolen leaf and filled his pipe. He handed the bag around, and was slightly miffed when Hob declined, though beamed with pleasure when Brass took a generous portion. "What a fool," he said scornfully, referring to the hobbit farmer. "Couldn't he see he was being hoodwinked by his own kind?"

"Maybe he was fool enough to see that you would have done him harm if he had protested," Hob muttered.

"Oh really?" said Olo indignantly. "And ye would have had him protest, would ye? It would have been more sport if he had," Olo added, blowing a smoke ring. "No matter."

Rising, he carefully replaced his pipe in his pocket and said, "Now we all walk together, no lagging no driving ahead."