Bywater Memorial
By Snowballjane

A tall stone stands on Bywater Hill, scrubbed white and clean of moss or lichen. Around it grows a neatly-tended garden.

Few remain who remember the battle. They shuffle up the path, occasionally stopping to rest weary old bones, leaning on the arms of grand-children. Gathered around the stone, they listen as the mayor reads once again the names of the 19 who lie beneath the garden earth.

Hobbits cannot stay serious for long. As the procession walks back into town there is laughter and singing. No disrespect is meant. It was laughter and singing that they died to defend.

The End