Here's Frodo's version. Probably a little better for quality than Sev's, but I'm not sure. XP I'm looking at it not very objectively! :)

As were most days in the Shire, this one looked bright and clear with no reservation to it. The hills were green, the flowers were open, and the world was simple. Frodo couldn't mind it, of course; while the Shire seemed beautiful, he'd seen it every day and could stand to read a book once in a short time. He could escape the mainstream, however lovely it may be, and enter his mind. Although battles were fought in his head he felt peace there. Even though conflict stood prevalent he felt more contentment in a novel than outside at home.

Just as he'd reached the climax, he could hear Sam calling to him. The single blade of long grass in his mouth twisted as he glanced up.

"Frodo! Frodo, where are you?"

Frodo thought about responding . . . but considered that Sam sounded far enough away that he wouldn't hear a reply. So Frodo turned back to his book, waiting for the other hobbit to find him. Frodo's eyes flickered past the next little bit. It happened to be a kissing scene, and he did not care for them.

Finally Frodo spotted Sam in his peripheral as he prepared to leap over a nearby log. But as his friend neared, Frodo spotted a movement under said log. A girl crouched in the shadows, eyeing Sam while he approached.

"Frodo!" Sam called.

"I'm over here," Frodo replied, staring under the log. He set his book down carefully as the wide, pale eyes from under the log turned to him. They stared out from underneath a tangle of dark, curly hair, right at his eyes. The strange girl seemed to study him.

Admittedly this intrigued him. And it frightened him. She looked so dark underneath those shadows. He smiled, and the girl recoiled almost imperceptibly.

Sam leaped over the log, and Frodo's gaze broke away for a moment. Sam looked excited; something must have happened with Rosie.

"Frodo, I finished the flowers! I thought you might want to come and see."

Frodo nodded and reluctantly set his book aside to follow Sam. Exactly as he had predicted, it had everything to do with Rosie, and little to do with the actual appearance of the Baggins yard. They rounded in a circle around the log, and the girl's stare followed them cautiously, as though Sam, or possibly even Frodo, would reach down and bite.

Frodo turned his gaze away only for a second, just to see what she would do. The moment he looked back, he slowed. The girl had sprang from beneath the log and raced to his book. She studied it, reading the first few pages. Her eyes glimmered hungrily as she inspected the words, and Frodo stopped to watch.

Hobbits never did that.

This girl truly was strange.

And he somehow liked it.

Then the girl's eyes snapped up, challenging Frodo to either come or go. She crouched and dashed back under the log with the book in her hands. Frodo almost thought he heard a growl. He just smiled again, turning to follow Sam, even though he knew the way back to Bag End. He didn't feel like being left alone with the log girl. He didn't know if she would bite; he didn't recognize her, and she didn't look normal. He'd noticed black veins in her eyes, and shivered at the memory.

The next day Frodo came back. His book lay on the ground by the tree where he'd left it. Apparently she'd finished it, or at least had put it back. He peered under the log, even approached it cautiously, but she had gone.

He glanced up when he heard a rustle. The girl's eyes peeked out from behind a nearby tree, and she flicked her eyes to the log. She'd been visibly shaken, swaying back and forth with a heartbeat moving ridiculously fast.

Frodo crept toward her, approaching slowly. Her eyes widened. The blood in her eyes really seemed black, faint though it was, and seemed to be receding for fear. As he neared, the girl tensed. She scrambled away when he got close enough to touch her. He called out for her, but she had vanished.

He turned around, only to see her feet disappear under the log. He left her alone after that, but heard other people saying how they had seen her prowling around. Some speculated that she would go away, others thought she didn't truly exist. Frodo wondered who she was; no one seemed to know.

Try as he might, Frodo could either never remember to go look, or suddenly didn't have the urge to talk to her. Even if the urge existed, it soon gave way to excuses and fear.

He saw her once in a while, and spoke to her from a distance. Her face immediately began to gray, and she would dash under the log, staring back at him with wide eyes. He tried to approach sometimes, with no success.

For five years, it evaded him. It didn't occupy all of his thoughts, so most of the time he didn't really mind. But whenever he saw her, he realized something was pulling to him, something about the way her darkness seeped around. It needed help.

Then, when he was almost twenty-five, Sam finally saw her. Frodo was watching her, and Sam followed his gaze. Frodo had been distracted; Sam was frustrated that Frodo wouldn't listen to him.

"What is that?" Sam asked. He bent down to glance under the log. The girl stiffened, recoiling.

Frodo smiled initially. "One of us, Sam." He stared down as well, although maintained his distance. His hands began to shake. Five years, and it had all come down to good old Sam. "Do you want to come out now?" he asked. His voice quivered; he hoped she couldn't smell fear.

Sam was rather brazen about it. He knelt down right next to the wall. "Well, what are you doing down there if you're a hobbit?" Sam held out his hand. "Come out."

Frodo was hopeful for a moment, but the girl growled and ducked away. Sam tried to coax her further, but Frodo had to crane his neck as she folded into the corner of her hole. Sam gave up right then. He sat back and sighed. "It's no use, Mr. Frodo. Better luck next time."

Sam seemed afraid, too. He quickly got up and walked away. At least Sam was a sweet-hearted soul, Frodo decided. He knelt down by the log and put his own hand out. The girl had unfolded a little bit. He could feel warmth emanating from her skin; it was simply unnatural, at such a distance as that, and it surprised him.

"What's your name?" He couldn't believe he was finally asking this creature a question, talking straight to her and expecting a response.

"Seville."

Frodo blinked. Her voice was low, and somehow not deep. He almost had been expecting her to outright hiss and run away. But her eyes glowered with a dark fear; she would not run away, but she might not take his hand either.

He should have asked a more useful question, probably should have pulled her out right then. However he said, "Seville . . .?" He wanted a last name with that, find out where she lived. If anywhere.

"I don't have a last name." She was very abrupt, and sounded scared. Frodo could see her shaking. Then he realized her hair, while like a typical hobbit's in curl, was red. He wondered if it would be red in the sunlight, or if she really was a demon like some said, and it made the transition to brown up close. Her eyes were murky blue.

He gathered he ought to introduce himself.

"I'm Frodo."

Her eyes raised to look fully at him, and her hand stretched out. Her fingers were long, and her veins were gray. Pale skin, quivering, emerged into the sunlight and snaked towards his hand. The moment her skin graced his, though, she hissed and backed away. Frodo stood abruptly, shocked by the contact. Her hand was soft . . . and as had been before implied, very warm. He'd been expecting scaly, somehow. Not so. Confused, he backed away and waved to her as he went.