When I look at him, I see the Shire.

I remember the rolling hills and the sun on my face. I remember trailing my toes in the river, watching each silver fish flash by. I remember the white bread and the mutton. And the cheese. God, the cheese. Now I have grown accustomed to sleeping on rocks instead of my own soft bed. My stomach is empty. My hands are bleeding. I have a giant splinter in my foot. I have almost forgotten the summers of my home country. But when I look at him I see it once again.

We have gone through this ordeal together, and through it he has kept me sane. I was so keen on an adventure. I was a fool. I didn't know what it would mean. I am weakening. I am tired. I know not when I will gaze on the shire's bright meadows and gentle forest again. Perhaps I never will.

But I look on him and I am comforted. His optimism fuels me. He takes care of me. Sometimes, I stray. I get angry. I forget where I came from and where I am returning, and I fall into despair. And he saves me, at these times. He reminds me of the green fields and grazing sheep, the beauty of the land of my birth.

He is my anchor. He keeps me here. In this world of giants, he is often the only one I can talk to. We are the only ones of our kind in all the outside world. We have to hang together, or we'll be painfully gutted seperately.

I don't know what would happen if I lost him. I would go mad, I think. I would wander, and be slain. It's a dangerous world we've fallen in, and a dangerous crowd we've fallen in with. I would give nearly anything to be back in the Shire again, in the sun and the grass.

But until then I can look at him.