Walk On

Part 6: Escape

Note: I just noticed that in the last chapter I said that Frodo "walked upstairs" to his room. Ah! Hobbits don't have upper stories! I'm thinking like a Big Person! Forgive me! Could you disregard the upstairs part? Thanks for the reviews! :)

Night fell over The Shire and Frodo remained hidden in his room. For some curious reason, Griffo had let him be almost all day. With the exception of fixing supper, he had no other duties assigned to him for that day.

He returned from supper, which wasn't bad, and reread his note to Bilbo. He still hated its crudeness, but he no longer cared. He felt so bitter, angry, and resentful that he didn't care what Bilbo thought of his manners, which was rather un-Hobbit-like of him.

He hid the letter under his pillow and fell into several hours of uneasy sleep, which was often disturbed by nightmares of Griffo beating him. His nightmares always seemed to be so real.

When he fully awoke from his last nightmare, he noticed that it was completely dark outside. Alarmed, he slid out of his bed and pulled the letter out from under his pillow. He peered through his window. It was only a little past midnight. He would have plenty of time to go to town, leave the letter by the postmaster's office, and go back to his room unnoticed.

He pulled his tattered cloak off the rusty hook on the wall and put it over his shoulders. He tucked the letter into his hood and walked to the window, careful not to make a sound. Griffo and Daisy slept right next door. He slowly started to open his window, which was slow to open as it was hardly ever opened. Before, Frodo had been too afraid of Griffo to even think about sneaking out of the smial at night. Now he found that he was too resentful of Griffo to care if he found out. If Griffo saw him, he would simply have to make a run for it. Though his ankle was terribly hurt, he could run anyway…perhaps. Perhaps when his ankle was fully healed, he would run. He would run all the way to Bag-End, even if it took him months to get there. But that was not for now. He knew that he would never be able to run from Griffo in his current condition, or at least without motivation. If he had to run, he would. But, otherwise, he would simply walk to town, which would take no more than an hour, and he would deliver his letter. It would be enough for now. Perhaps Bilbo would come to take him away…but he knew that was a lot to hope for. The letter would be enough.

When the window was fully opened, Frodo pulled himself onto the ledge and slipped out of the smial. The night air felt refreshing on his face. He found that his ankle throbbed worse than ever with pain, but he would endure it. It wouldn't take too long…a nice walk might actually help take his mind off of things.

He tiptoed through the garden and reached the grass. The town of Bindbole was about ten miles north. Normally it would not have taken him an hour to reach it, but he had to keep his injuries in mind. He had to limp, and limp very slowly at that. He didn't want to injure it further, and besides that he wanted it to heal. It didn't need the strain.

He limped (knowing full well how ridiculous he looked) up the path. He reached the gate and unlatched it. He could run…but no. That was a silly idea. Griffo would catch him straight in the morning when he noticed he wasn't in his room. He felt barely able to walk, so why risk his health and run? He would have to wait.

He dragged himself down the small country road that led to Bindbole. Now that he thought of it, it was better that he hadn't went in the day. Bindbole was a small town, and if Griffo had been trading there, he would have caught him. Daisy would have missed him, probably. It was best to sneak there at night.

The minutes passed by and Frodo continued down the road. He had thoughts of stopping to rest, but he knew that he couldn't. He had to hurry…he couldn't get caught. His hurt ankle, bruised back, and broken heart seemed to make the time drag by even more slowly. He wanted to get to town quickly, so he could go back and rest…he would have to work tomorrow. He had to hurry, but he couldn't.

Perhaps, he thought smiling a little, perhaps one of Bilbo's walking songs would make both the time and distance seem less. He opened his mouth and began to sing softly.

"Upon the heart the fire is red,

Beneath the roof there is a bed;

But not yet weary are our feet,

Still round the corner we way meet –"

Frodo stopped. He thought that he had heard something. But of course! The path was near to the Bindbole Wood! Of course there would be sounds; there were animals in the woods. He was just paranoid; he was afraid that Griffo was there.

"Although," said Frodo bitterly, "I do have reason to be afraid of Griffo."

"That you do, lad," said a harsh voice.

Frodo's eyes opened wide. He turned around as quickly as he could, and there stood Griffo. It had to be a figment of his imagination…how… could Griffo be there? He had been quiet…how had he known? Then, one thought came to his mind: He had to run. He had no other choice; his ankle would have to suffer. He had to get away from Griffo. He was deadly afraid of the madness in Griffo's eyes. He couldn't take another beating, and from a beating he knew he would not have a chance. But he had a chance to run. He had to take it. He ran.

He ran as he has never ran before, and he was suddenly aware that he had only his cloak with him, and no food, and that he would probably get caught if he didn't run more quickly. He ran into the wood, and he could hear Griffo pursuing him.

"Curse you!" He heard Griffo shout. "You shall get the beating of your life for this!"

The pain in Frodo's ankle nearly defeated him, but he could do nothing but go on. He had to go on. Each step felt as if he was walking upon not the forest floor, but of the fiery chasm of eternal damnation itself. He had to keep going…but Griffo was catching up to him.

"Curse you! I hate you!" he heard himself scream back at Griffo. He increased his pace. He was younger…he could outrun him. He had to. He had to keep going.

"Stop this instant!" shouted Griffo. Frodo looked back and saw that Griffo was still close. He ran to the left, jumping over a rotting log as he went. Maybe that would throw him off.

He ran in random directions, but Griffo simply would not be shook off. He felt that he could no longer run. But he had to. He had to go on. Tears were streaming down his face from the pain. He had to find somewhere to hide. He could not keep running for much longer. The pain felt worse than a hundred beatings ever could. But he couldn't get caught. Now was his chance, and he couldn't get beaten by Griffo again.

Then he saw it. A hollowed out log, just a few paces ahead. If he could get in there in haste, Griffo would not be able to see him. It was dark, and his clothes would blend in.

He flung himself to the ground and rolled into the log. He crawled into its centre and he lay there like a dead thing. He could hear Griffo's footsteps and his shouting. Then it stopped. There was no noise. Griffo had obviously stopped. He knew that Frodo was close.

Frodo clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle his heavy, gruff breathing. Griffo was walking.

"I know you're here, boy," he whispered. Frodo said nothing. He felt as if his breathing could be heard leagues away.

The heavy footsteps continued. Frodo felt some sort of slimy bug fall onto his face.

"Boy, you'd best answer me! I shall find you eventually!" There was a dead silence. Frodo could not even hear the night owls.

He heard Griffo curse. Then there were footsteps…was he leaving? Yes. His footsteps were going away…to the east. He was moving on. Somehow, someway, Griffo hadn't seen the log. He waited until the footsteps had faded to take his hand off his mouth and gasp a sigh of relief. He was free…for now.

To Be Continued

(Don't worry…there still will be plenty of Frodo-angst though Frodo has 'escaped.')