A young warrior slid off his pony, looking darkly at the lands of Mordor. "Go back, Isil." He patted the pony, not shifting his eyes. Feeling the pony trot off, he walked forward, pulling his sword as he lowered at Bara-dur. "Come out, ye scu-
A raven crowed. Sam, awakened, shot up. Noticing the sound was nothing but a night-bird, he slipped out of bed and walked to the window. Should I? He thought. He let his gase fall from the stars to rest on the mountain tops- so very far away. Two conflicting thoughts rose at once. Of course. Of course NOT. He glanced quickly, almost fearful, at his dresser- under which a bag sat, already packed.
Sam glanced at he mountains again. They called to him, it seemed. He could do it. He could live out there, run away, become an adventurer…. But he was still a young child. And wouldn't his parents and siblings want him to stay? They'll be all right. He looked at the dresser again.
He took a deep breath and scanned his room. His quilt stitched by Grandma lay on the bed- no, not that. Sam shifted his gaze to the nightstand. It was simply carved and bare, save for his pair of gardening gloves. He walked over and picked them up, feeling the stitched initials on the inside. SG. Samwise Gamgee. He wondered if he would ever hear that name again.
Turning his attention back to the gloves, he considered how useful they would be. Well, they're likely the closest thing to gauntlets in the Shire. And when you "throw down a gauntlet", you need to throw down a gauntlet. He put them in his pocket, then took a deep breath. Okay, enough lily-livered sidetracking. Are you going or not? You need to decide, now or never.
Fierceness entered his brown eyes as they hardened like walls of stony ice. Without further debate, afraid he would lose his nerve, he grabbed his bag and swung it over his shoulder, taking off at dead run. Bursting out into the street, the dark enveloped him, as if to finalize his choice. He was now free to wander, to adventure… and perhaps to die.