(A SERIES OF DRABBLES WRITTEN FOR B2MeM 2019)
BUSINESS AND PLEASURE
Frodo recognised the black and white counters Bilbo dropped on the table. "I'd forgotten it was the senyear fair this Lithe. Who else votes for Hobbiton?"
Bilbo accepted a cup of tea. "Tom Cotton. Will you join me in Michel Delving, or would you rather celebrate in Hobbiton?"
His nephew considered. Hobbiton's own fair was fun, but he had never seen the Free Fair, and it would likely be seven years before he got the chance again. "I'd love to come, Uncle."
"Good. I'll make the arrangements."
The younger Baggins beamed. What gifts he would bring for his friends!
END
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CLOSE ENCOUNTER OF THE WIZARD KIND?
Cows aren't blessed with good sense and if there's a ditch or tangle to fall in, there's Foxglove. When she wasn't at milking, I went looking.
Seeing a big fella, dressed all in brown, I thought the worst. Buckland's had rustlers before. Then I saw him untangling the brambles and talking to Foxglove. Rustlers don't talk, they take.
Soon as she was free Foxglove ambled over to me, all meekness. The big fella just straightened, gave me a wink, bold as you please, then turned back toward the bridge. The Bounders said they never saw him, neither coming nor going.
END
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COMMON AS MUCK
"Common as muck" I've heard some call Harfoots. Mayhap we are, but t'was Harfoots as was first writ in family lists. We're not so clever as them Fallowhides, with their book learnin', and we don't use outlandish words and take to boats, like them Stoors, but we're the ones as puts food on the table.
In my eyes, tis just as well we're common as muck, or the Shire would starve. Ma used to say, "Everyone got a place in life. Fallowhides tell when to plant, but tis Harfoot hands as digs taters and all Hobbits as eats 'em."
END
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EVERYONE GOT A PLACE
The missus likes them family trees. Of course, names is all she can read and that's for the best. Females don't have the brains for readin'. I could have married better. She tricked me into it, for the bairns sake. Females got no strength, so they use cunnin'.
I'm a Sandyman and we was well placed, until that Drogo came to Hobbiton. Grandda warned us to keep an eye on them Baggins', with their airs and graces. Readin' and writin' for folk was grandda's job until they came, and a good earner it was. Now theres just this old mill.
END
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EVERYONE HAS TO START SOMEWHERE
Estel circled again, looking for something, anything, to indicate the direction his foster brother had taken. Elladan leaned against a nearby tree trunk, ankles crossed, arms folded across his chest and a smug grin upon his face.
Grimacing, Estel bent again. He had been doing well, but Elrohir's spoor seemed to just disappear. Straightening, he sent a pleading glance to his older brother, then yelped as an acorn landed squarely upon his head. Looking up he spied Elrohir, grinning from the branches of an oak.
"Expect the unnexpected, little brother."
Estel leapt and the forest rang with their laughter.
END