The Monster of Bywater
Chapter Two - The Scare
By Talking Hawk
'Where to go, where to go. . .' Frodo wondered to himself vaguely. To go to the village was out of the question - the womenfolk were likely to prod him to death with inquiries. "Who are you?" they would probably ask if given ample opportunity. "Where are you from? Why do you smell funny? Do all people smell like that where you come from?" The lad rolled his eyes merely thinking about it - an action he reserved for the most ignorant of individuals.
'Nosey people. . .'
All right, he admitted, he was being stereotypical of people he had never met before. . . So? All of them were alike, anyhow. Here, Buckland, and every other place imaginable, most likely. . .
Finally, his feet leading as opposed to his head, he found himself at a nice little spot indeed. Frodo stopped, taking in its subtle beauty. The rolling green hills dipped down, creating a sort of enclosed, miniature valley no more than ten feet deep. At the place where the two opposite row of hills converged, there lay a decently sized pond, the water supplied by a miniscule stream.
Content with his surroundings for the first time in days, the lad smiled and walked down the slope a bit until his feet felt the plushest grass and clover he had ever seen before in his life. Exhaling happily, he almost immediately plopped down onto his rear, and stretched out, lying down in the mildly swaying grass. Closing his eyes a moment, taking in the serenity of it all, he looked up to watch the clouds pass casually by overhead.
The bet with Bilbo completely put out of his mind, Frodo thought everything was perfect - all save for the sun beating down upon him. It was nearly high noon, and the clouds that had seemed so friendly to him only moments before appeared cowardly, all shirking away from the sun's might. Subject to the blistering heat of the great orb in the sky, the small breeze was of little comfort to the boy.
An idea suddenly struck him - there was still the Bywater.
"Of course!" he exclaimed, clearly beside himself with joy at the notion that ran through his mind. Within minutes, he had thrown off most of his clothing, save for his underpants. Only having to run down the grassy hill a short distance, he climbed up onto a large boulder bordering the pond, and leaped off its edge, pressing his knees to his chest while doing so. He plummeted through the air, twisting and tumbling all the while, until he finally crashed into the water, creating a sort of healthy splash in the process.
Frodo was impressed with the size of the waves that stretched out across the pond as his head broke the surface. However, he noted that they were in no comparison to the waves he made when he swung off the rope hanging from a tree limb at the banks of the Brandywine. His cousin Merry had helped him put it up there. . .
The tweenager sighed morosely to himself, swishing his arms in the water as to stay afloat. 'Don't fret about it, Frodo,' he told himself. 'Before you left, Merry himself - as sick as he was - told you to have a good time while you were here, and he promised to give you a good thrashing if you didn't!' Frodo couldn't help but snicker at the thought of his little cousin - who was a good fourteen years his junior, need I remind you - pummeling him to the point that one could honestly call it a "good thrashing."
When the snickers and giggles had subsided, the boy blinked, the sunlight creating a sharp white glow as its light bounced off the Bywater's surface. 'Ack. . .this light's going to kill my eyes,' Frodo thought, running a dripping hand over his aching eyes. Another idea coming to him, he heaved in a deep breath, and dove down into the cool bottoms of the pond.
The icy water made the Baggins' skin tingle, but he emphatically admitted that the preferred the water's touch to that of the sun's. The sun, in its present condition, created great discomfort, but the water was like a silken blanket, wrapping itself about the boy and gently caressing his bare arms, legs, and chest. Maneuvering himself almost entirely on his pumping legs, his arms occasionally waved and pushed him forward. It was all so tranquil until. . .
KERRR-PLUNK!
A swarm of bubbles appeared as something heavy hit the water. Jerking back in surprise, Frodo noted how - whatever it was - had come within an inch of smashing into his head. The wide-eyed hobbit hovered in the water for a moment, allowing for the bubbles to diminish. When they did, a large brown thing appeared. . .
'A. . .*bucket*. . .? What on earth?. . .'
A pair of feet appeared, ankle-deep in water, standing at arm's distance behind the bucket. Frodo narrowed his eyes, and as the feet plodded nearer to the wooden basin, the tweenager planted his feet upon the slick pebbles that covered the creek's bottom, and rose defiantly out of the water.
He visibly startled the lad that appeared before his eyes, the tweenager proving to be about twice his height - as well as age. The younger of the two had both his thick arms wrapped about the yet-to-be-filled water bucket, clutching the possession to his chest. His abnormally broad shoulders were rigid with fright, especially with the added factor of his short stature when compared to the Baggins.
A lily pad rested upon Frodo's head, showering his eyes and face with additional water. The rest of him dripped as well, and his hands slick with the water, he placed them upon his underpants-covered hips. Unaware of the other boy's horror, the irritated lad voiced his complaint of nearly being bucketed in the head.
"Watch it there. . .!"
This was simply too much for the other boy to bear. Dropping the bucket back into the pond with stiff arms, his wide hazel eyes - if possible - grew larger. He heaved in a mighty breath and shouted for all the life in him. . .
"MONSTER!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
Before the stunned Frodo could make any sort of reply, the other hobbit did a full one-hundred-and-eighty degree turn, and ran off faster than one would expect of such stout little legs. Screaming all the while, the petrified boy quickly disappeared over the hill.
The tweenager's mouth fell open, forgetting the lily pad that so elegantly added to his given wardrobe. Pond water continued to drip down his chin, as well as his other limbs, the lad's shock no more stopping time as it did water.
"Well. . .I *never*. . ."
Chapter Two - The Scare
By Talking Hawk
'Where to go, where to go. . .' Frodo wondered to himself vaguely. To go to the village was out of the question - the womenfolk were likely to prod him to death with inquiries. "Who are you?" they would probably ask if given ample opportunity. "Where are you from? Why do you smell funny? Do all people smell like that where you come from?" The lad rolled his eyes merely thinking about it - an action he reserved for the most ignorant of individuals.
'Nosey people. . .'
All right, he admitted, he was being stereotypical of people he had never met before. . . So? All of them were alike, anyhow. Here, Buckland, and every other place imaginable, most likely. . .
Finally, his feet leading as opposed to his head, he found himself at a nice little spot indeed. Frodo stopped, taking in its subtle beauty. The rolling green hills dipped down, creating a sort of enclosed, miniature valley no more than ten feet deep. At the place where the two opposite row of hills converged, there lay a decently sized pond, the water supplied by a miniscule stream.
Content with his surroundings for the first time in days, the lad smiled and walked down the slope a bit until his feet felt the plushest grass and clover he had ever seen before in his life. Exhaling happily, he almost immediately plopped down onto his rear, and stretched out, lying down in the mildly swaying grass. Closing his eyes a moment, taking in the serenity of it all, he looked up to watch the clouds pass casually by overhead.
The bet with Bilbo completely put out of his mind, Frodo thought everything was perfect - all save for the sun beating down upon him. It was nearly high noon, and the clouds that had seemed so friendly to him only moments before appeared cowardly, all shirking away from the sun's might. Subject to the blistering heat of the great orb in the sky, the small breeze was of little comfort to the boy.
An idea suddenly struck him - there was still the Bywater.
"Of course!" he exclaimed, clearly beside himself with joy at the notion that ran through his mind. Within minutes, he had thrown off most of his clothing, save for his underpants. Only having to run down the grassy hill a short distance, he climbed up onto a large boulder bordering the pond, and leaped off its edge, pressing his knees to his chest while doing so. He plummeted through the air, twisting and tumbling all the while, until he finally crashed into the water, creating a sort of healthy splash in the process.
Frodo was impressed with the size of the waves that stretched out across the pond as his head broke the surface. However, he noted that they were in no comparison to the waves he made when he swung off the rope hanging from a tree limb at the banks of the Brandywine. His cousin Merry had helped him put it up there. . .
The tweenager sighed morosely to himself, swishing his arms in the water as to stay afloat. 'Don't fret about it, Frodo,' he told himself. 'Before you left, Merry himself - as sick as he was - told you to have a good time while you were here, and he promised to give you a good thrashing if you didn't!' Frodo couldn't help but snicker at the thought of his little cousin - who was a good fourteen years his junior, need I remind you - pummeling him to the point that one could honestly call it a "good thrashing."
When the snickers and giggles had subsided, the boy blinked, the sunlight creating a sharp white glow as its light bounced off the Bywater's surface. 'Ack. . .this light's going to kill my eyes,' Frodo thought, running a dripping hand over his aching eyes. Another idea coming to him, he heaved in a deep breath, and dove down into the cool bottoms of the pond.
The icy water made the Baggins' skin tingle, but he emphatically admitted that the preferred the water's touch to that of the sun's. The sun, in its present condition, created great discomfort, but the water was like a silken blanket, wrapping itself about the boy and gently caressing his bare arms, legs, and chest. Maneuvering himself almost entirely on his pumping legs, his arms occasionally waved and pushed him forward. It was all so tranquil until. . .
KERRR-PLUNK!
A swarm of bubbles appeared as something heavy hit the water. Jerking back in surprise, Frodo noted how - whatever it was - had come within an inch of smashing into his head. The wide-eyed hobbit hovered in the water for a moment, allowing for the bubbles to diminish. When they did, a large brown thing appeared. . .
'A. . .*bucket*. . .? What on earth?. . .'
A pair of feet appeared, ankle-deep in water, standing at arm's distance behind the bucket. Frodo narrowed his eyes, and as the feet plodded nearer to the wooden basin, the tweenager planted his feet upon the slick pebbles that covered the creek's bottom, and rose defiantly out of the water.
He visibly startled the lad that appeared before his eyes, the tweenager proving to be about twice his height - as well as age. The younger of the two had both his thick arms wrapped about the yet-to-be-filled water bucket, clutching the possession to his chest. His abnormally broad shoulders were rigid with fright, especially with the added factor of his short stature when compared to the Baggins.
A lily pad rested upon Frodo's head, showering his eyes and face with additional water. The rest of him dripped as well, and his hands slick with the water, he placed them upon his underpants-covered hips. Unaware of the other boy's horror, the irritated lad voiced his complaint of nearly being bucketed in the head.
"Watch it there. . .!"
This was simply too much for the other boy to bear. Dropping the bucket back into the pond with stiff arms, his wide hazel eyes - if possible - grew larger. He heaved in a mighty breath and shouted for all the life in him. . .
"MONSTER!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
Before the stunned Frodo could make any sort of reply, the other hobbit did a full one-hundred-and-eighty degree turn, and ran off faster than one would expect of such stout little legs. Screaming all the while, the petrified boy quickly disappeared over the hill.
The tweenager's mouth fell open, forgetting the lily pad that so elegantly added to his given wardrobe. Pond water continued to drip down his chin, as well as his other limbs, the lad's shock no more stopping time as it did water.
"Well. . .I *never*. . ."