On Patrol (Continued from Let's Go to the Prancing Pony)

[piosenniel]

Holly was so tired she could barely see the nonexistent path that Gandalf was leading them on. Now, here they were, in the midst of grass practically up to her neck. And muck, squishing uncomfortably between her toes. She longed for the comforts of a dark room and a clean bed and just two or three more hours of blesséd sleep.

Relief flooded over her as she caught sight of the cabin. She blinked the sunlight from her eyes as she entered, accustoming her eyes to the dimness of the interior.

'AAh! A bench!' she sighed to herself and sat down on the one by the front window. Someone, a Ranger, came up to her and offered her a mug of the good, strong coffe whose aroma permeated the room. Accepting it gratefully, she sipped it slowly, willing its promised energy into her.

Glancing about the room, she counted eleven Rangers. 'Interesting! I don't think I've ever seen so many gathered in one place. I wonder what this meeting is about? With so many Big Folk here, I wonder why I was needed?' She decided to just sit quietly and learn as much as she could.

She could just hear a Ranger and Gandalf discussing some opening business about an expected letter, when she saw the Ranger go pale and say something in an apologetic tone. The blood drained from Gandalf's face and he seemed quite taken aback. The hobbit thought to creep closer to hear more clearly, but Gandalf's voice rose, and the hair on her scalp prickled from the force of his voice raised loud in anger.

"That bug must have been a servant of the Enemy, like the crebain that followed us on our way here. Why, had I that foul insect within my reach, I'd squash it into the ground so thoroughly with my heel that the tread of my footprint would remain sealed there until the end of the Age!"

In the awful silence of the room, the sharp intake of breath from the hobbit was quickly followed by the crash of her mug to the floor.