A/N

This tale is a perilous adventure held tight by , heartache, unrequited love, lust, loss, sacrifice, vampires, demons, quirkiness, and the perseverance of a lost hobbit girl .. This very unique adventure story has been so fun to write and I hope you fall in love with Prizzy, The Hobbit, as I have.

Lots of chapters of "So The Dog Fell In Love With The Hare" are being edited currently so, if you're a curious folk, stick around awhile.

Written and imagined by - Lark

Co-imagined and edited by - Chrust

I OWN NOTHING IN THIS STORY BUT MY ORIGINAL COVER-ART, ORIGINAL CHARACTERS: Prizzy, Egg, Kaname, and MAMMON, AND MY PLOT.

ALL MAJOR MIDDLE EARTH LOCATION-NAMES AND THE SPECIES OF HOBBIT IS OWNED BY - J. R. R. TOLKIEN.

SESSHOMARU IS OWNED BY RUMIKO TAKAHASHI.

Chapter 1: PRIZZY

"Prizzy! On your left!"

The gator's mouth snapped at her herding-stick. " *Now!*", Prizzy thought to herself. She dropped her stick and swung her lasso around the gator's snout and pulled with all her guts.

"We've nearly got em', Prizz," said Hairio, the swamp keeper's son, holding the young gator's tail stable from swiping at his best friend.

Prizzy bared down, took a deep breath, spun around and heaved the rope over her shoulder, yanking the young gator into it's new swamp pit. She swiftly hopped onto the nearing stump-stool, onto the fence and climbed high enough to safely twirl her lasso off of the gator's trap, landing with a thud on the outside.

"Fuyohh!", yelped Hairio, "They are all in! We are finished! Thanks for your help, Prizz. Without you I know this would have taken me a dragon's sleep to finish" he said as he picked her up and spun her around. They both were smiling ear to ear and both covered in muck from a morning full of moving his family's teenage gators to their new pit across his land.

Prizzy's smile fell dramatically. "I'll be taking what's owed to me, Hairio Knox, and not a crumb less."

Hairio looked at her with a grimace, dug in his sack that was perched on a stump, and pulled out four fried flutes. Prizzy's favorite snack was Harry's mother's cinnamon-sugared fried butter bread in the shape of flutes.

"As promised," said Hairio. "Here.." He handed her all four. "See, I did not eat any this time, Prizz."

Prizzy looked at her best friend with sharp eyes. She saw his cheeks turning pink. She barely held her sneer seconds until they both broke out in laughter. Prizzy turned to take her leave while scarfing down a flute. "See you later, Harry," she said while crumbs stuck to her lips. "And thank your Ma for the flutes for me."

Hairio adored Prizzy Potts, and he wanted to spend more time with her but Prizzy was always worlds away and he knew she didn't belong to him.

"Course', Prizz. Let's hang out again real soon, yeah?" he said with a faltering heart.

Prizzy nodded, and down the dirt path she danced..

Prizzy was a Hufflebog Hobbit, at the vigorous age of two and twenty.

She always had an owl feather tucked in her wild hair for "portent" ideas and sketches that needed tending. She had fluffy black curls that tumbled down her back with short wild fringe that framed her wide face. Her eyes were honey brown and she had freckles on her button nose. She had large front teeth under pouty mauve lips that were always pursed to one side in thought. She was plump and shapely like a timeglass and loved making her rounds in the stocked larders every day, stuffing her satchel full, before heading out to the morning skies.

Being spunky, adventurous, outspoken and always dirty, she was quite the heathen to the village females, especially since she was unmarried and never joined any of the fairest clubs such as trinket stringing, rug winding, or dress making.

Prizzy was stood 4'4'', above average for her clan's women and her height and strength made climbing and work all the easier. She spent most days out hunting for herbs and roots for her small elixir stall she shared with her Grandmo. When work was done she ran around the swamp with Hairio, playing the flute on her favorite rock at sunset, following owls, drawing, and of course the weekly war she and Harry waged with the Hopwood brothers across the bog, which her and Hairio were still a victorious 7 to 2.

Hufflebog Hobbits were of the second least numerous of the four branches of Hobbits. They lived in Screech Hollow, center of the Blue Mountains and surrounded by swamps and bogs. This village got its name from the Screech Owls that called this land home. The owls guarded the land from the skies, watching over both forests and swamp, protecting the people by keeping the many venomous snakes away from footpaths and warning the villagers of wandering gators and other foes.

Unlike their tan kin from the Shire and forests, Hufflebog's were very pale in skin from almost never seeing direct sunlight through the murky misted skies. Their hair is black as coal and eyes as pale as robin's eggs and in as many shades of all the wood in Bree. Hufflebog Hobbits were the tallest of the halflings, with the men reaching 4'6'' with brawny shoulders and arms and the women often at 4'2'' with curvaceous frames. And like most Hobbits they didn't wear shoes and had a tuft of hair atop their footses. This clan is a strong, brave, and curious folk who love to eat and work. Shepherding gators for their strong leather, teeth, oil, bones and jerky was the most common work being done to support the clan. However, some were notable for their elixirs brewed from the venom of swamp snakes, roots, berries, herbs and exotic flowers only found in their region.

Tales of old tell of the oracle reading from the eyes of the screech owl mask from Screech Hollow, but long since has that been practiced as it is a cruel fate to those that kill the Screech Owl for their masking.

The only oracle teller rumored to be left was Poppylan Potts, Prizzy's Grandmo. She was a very small and wise Hobbit of eleventy-six who lived on the outskirts of Screech Hollow inside a hollowed-out trunk of an old willow tree. Poppylan Potts was taught to see the magic through the Screech Owl's mask by her mother and Grandmo since she was a youngling. They came to own a mask from a stranger seeking answers from it, knowing only this family was the last line of Hobbits left that could peer through the owl's eyes and see in through to the other side and grant the seeker the sight just once. After getting his answer the mysterious man left and never returned, leaving the mask behind and in payment left a locket of moonlight, and at his request, the locket be kept in their family for it brought the wearer good health and fortuity.

Poppylan passed the locket down to her son, Pipey, and he to his little Prizzy and with her it dangled on a long, thin strand of mythril from her neck.

Pipey Pots was a learned craftsman of unusual pots made of iron, silver, copper, and clay dipped in colorful enamels. He sold his trove of waggish pots up and down the markets of the west coast of Eriador, through to Bree in the east - until his cart and pony had the misfortune of sinking in quicksand when they were resting in a valley unknown to him in Minhiraith and his pony got spooked, running Stright into the sand pool. His cart was too ponderous and heavy with freight and sunk into the pool - because of this, Mr. Pots has not been able to take his freightage on the road and so has been only making local sales which haven't been plentiful enough for earnings this season. Prizzy has been waiting for winter to end for the annual spring "Hunger Hearth" cook off in Bree. Once a year Hobbits of many and some men folk get together and see who has the best item that can bust a belly and bend a fork. Prizzy loved to bake and knew she may have a chance to win the prize and help her father - even more so if she could get her hands on something new, something no hobbit or human-folk had ever tasted before!

Prizzy made her way down the damp footpath at dusk heading toward the village's hollow. She could hear the owls beginning their songs of flight and the whistle of the flute grass that blew in the warm breeze. Fireflies and dragobugs alike darted out of the steadfast hobbit's way as she tromped towards the batch of stump-steads that sat near the edge of the Hallow's commons.

Halfway done with the last of her fried flute she brought it to her mouth, but then she noticed a smallish-looking screech owl sitting on a downed tree alongside the path. It looked back up at her, eyes darting to her and then to her prized treat. She smiled and tossed it to the owl. The owl clumsily hopped down from its perch and happily hooted a "thank you!" to the hobbit. Prizzy giggled and continued walking.

As she approached the squat little hobbit homes she began to hear the muddy squeal of a carriage being driven by what could only be -

"The crier!" she nearly gasped to herself. "He's come! Spring is here at last! Perhaps now I can find out what the grand prize is for the Hunger Hearth competition!"

She picked up her pace (some onlookers would say she nearly began skipping) and quickly made her way around the corner stump house just as the creaky carriage was coming to a stop.

"Hear ye, Hobbits, hear ye!" the carriage driver, a hobbit himself, began cheerfully shouting as he made his way down to the ground, quickly dusting himself off as he did so. "Hear ye! I have news from Bree!" He gestured to the side of his mud-caked carriage, which, despite being so dirty, proudly read -

233rd HUNGER HEARTH COOK-OFF

"Now," the cheerful hobbit continued, "Like all of you, I am very excited about this Spring's upcoming Hunger Hearth. And I am pleased to let you fine folk know that the hobbits in Bree have come to a decision as to what the prizes will be!"

Prizzy held her breath. I really hope it's something better than last years prize, she thought to herself. I understand that an ox, two barrels of mead, and a golden pocket watch is nothing to sneeze at, but it's not what Pappo needs.

Other hobbits had gathered around to hear the big news - the Hunger Hearth was an event loved by many in Screech Hallow - and the crier found himself very pleased indeed to be the bearer of such good news.

"Beginning with the third place winner in the contest," the hobbit began again, "the printing press in Bree is proud to announce that it will be awarding one hundred flyers to be printed out for one lucky business owner, along with the artistic designs and insights of none other than Bilfred Briggsworth!"

The crowd murmured in slight agreement of this prize, but a hush quickly fell upon them as they anticipated the crier's further announcements.

"Secondly," he smiled as he looked around at the gathering, "the Gullybrook brothers are awarding the second-place contestant with a years supply of their fine seasonal wine, along with a set of collectible tankards - no doubt for the lucky winner to drink from alongside their patrons!"

Laughs and more chatter followed this news, until the crier began once more -

"And for the winner of the Hunger Hearth cook-off, I'm very excited to announce that this years grand prize shall be one expertly crafted market banner, a wonderfully built oak wood wagon, and a beautiful Brandywine pony, bred from the finest stable masters of Greenway! A wonderful set of prizes for any shopkeeper, inexperienced or veteran!"

Prizzy grinned smartly. " What luck! I would worry about Pappo much less knowing that he would be in proper sorts with a prize like that! Her grin began to drop. However - this only means that I absolutely cannot lose this year. I've gotta win, no matter what!"

She quickly spun around in the mud and bolted to the other side of the village, making her way through the short crowd of hobbits gathered around the beaming town crier.

Prizzy stopped just on the outskirts of the village. A chubby toad, waiting for its chance to cross, breathed a sigh of relief as it slowly hopped across the path in front of her. She stood in thought and played with the locket around her neck absentmindedly.

"I don't suppose she would be too keen on that particular old relic, however... her grin began to reappear, "I'm sure Grandmo will understand. She's got to!"

The young hobbit picked her pace back up as the toad making its way across the footpath quickly finished its own trek from one shrub to another.