Another hour, thought Merry, and Michel Delving would be in sight. He whistled cheerfully as the adventurers sauntered along the road, subtly setting a steady pace suited to Farry's lame leg and Theo's two shorter ones. His brother and sister still seemed to have boundless energy and would race further up the path occasionally, running back to report on the sights around the next corner. They must have walked nearly twice the distance.

It was while Pippin and Goldie were some distance ahead that a strange keening wail erupted from a nearby copse - the unmistakable sound of a wild thing in pain. Merry winced as the two youngsters ran in the direction of the sound. "Wait!" he shouted. "Be careful!"

The two hobbits disappeared into the trees. He sprinted after them. The cry came again, this time followed by the high pitched shriek of his little sister.

Panicking he crashed into the copse and there saw Goldie clasping her hand to her chest and Pippin staring at her white-faced.

"What happened?" he gasped. Pippin stood aside and on the ground he saw a young fox, little more than a cub, its leg bloodied where it was pinned by a trap. Merry knelt down close to the creature. The trap was hobbit work - perhaps the fox or its family had been attacking poultry at a local farm. The animal was panting, it's tongue lolling, it's eyes glazed with pain. He reached towards it.

"Don't!" shouted Goldie. "Don't touch it. It bit me."

"Show me."

Unwillingly Goldie unclenched her hand. It was bleeding, but not badly, the semi circle of teeth marks raw and angry. Struggling to remain calm and collected Merry rummaged in his pack and found a water bottle. Goldie was biting her lip and evidently trying very hard not to cry. He bathed the wound and wrapped it in his cleanest handkerchief. As he did so, Farry and Theo finally appeared in the copse aflame with curiosity. Merry sternly ordered them all out of the trees and told them to wait for him on the path. Then he took out his pocket-knife and sat down on the mossy ground close to the fox.

Fuddled by pain and exhaustion the fox tried to raise its head to look at the hobbit. The sounds the large creature made were soothing but seemed to be getting more distant. In fact the whole world seemed to be getting distant and dark. Was it nightfall already? The fox's throat was dry and he longed to quench his thirst, plunging his head into a cold stream. He needed to get up, find water. Now why couldn't he seem to move his legs? Oh yes, the trap, the pain. But the pain was gone now and he couldn't feel his legs. Now there was just the thirst and the darkness and the hobbit murmuring. Then the hobbit, the murmuring calm hobbit, reached towards him holding something and suddenly there was.

Merry wiped his knife on the ground and stood up shakily. He had helped in the slaughter of animals before at grandfather Cotton's farm, but never a wild creature. Even so badly injured the fox had been beautiful. Its red coat was silky and its face intelligent-looking. Dead, it simply looked sad and empty. He took several large gulping breaths before heading out to join the others on the path.