Frodo had always been a rather quiet hobbit, given now to musing alone for long hours in dark corners of his uncle Bilbo's house, now to wandering wide in far away fields. He had become much more melancholy and silent since his parents' tragic deaths, and rarely spoke to anyone. So, naturally, it was with great joy that Bilbo began to observe him coming out of himself after the birth of Samwise. He was hardly to be found in the house anymore. Instead, he could be found on long hikes with his young friend, miles from Bag End, more days than not. He usually packed lunches for them, and sometimes they were gone all day.
Several years had passed since that first joyous meeting at Hamfast's house, and Frodo was now nearing his seventeenth birthday. Samwise was five. The two young hobbits were rarely apart.
On this particular day in March, everything seemed perfect. Birds sang from every tree, the world was green all around, and the sun shone in a way that suggested it would never think of stopping.
"Sam and I are going out for a walk, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo called from the kitchen. The old hobbit was seated in front of the fire, gazing into its depths and remembering his younger, wilder days and the adventures he had had. He wondered briefly if such crazy things were in store for his young nephew, then smiled and stretched back in his chair. He much preferred to be here, in his warm home, where nothing was unpredictable and all was safe. His days of adventure were long past.
"All right, Frodo," he called through the open door. "When will you be back?"
"Sometime tonight," Frodo replied, ducking his head to avoid the top of the door as he entered. He was quite tall for a hobbit. "I've packed enough food to last us all day."
"Are you sure you can carry that much?" Bilbo joked.
"Yes, of course, uncle," he replied. "Besides, Samwise has a monstrous appetite. We shan't get far before most of it's gone."
"True, true," Bilbo muttered. "Now you stay out of trouble, you hear?"
"Yes, uncle," said Frodo, bowing his head again as he withdrew. Bilbo sighed. It was good to be home.
Several years had passed since that first joyous meeting at Hamfast's house, and Frodo was now nearing his seventeenth birthday. Samwise was five. The two young hobbits were rarely apart.
On this particular day in March, everything seemed perfect. Birds sang from every tree, the world was green all around, and the sun shone in a way that suggested it would never think of stopping.
"Sam and I are going out for a walk, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo called from the kitchen. The old hobbit was seated in front of the fire, gazing into its depths and remembering his younger, wilder days and the adventures he had had. He wondered briefly if such crazy things were in store for his young nephew, then smiled and stretched back in his chair. He much preferred to be here, in his warm home, where nothing was unpredictable and all was safe. His days of adventure were long past.
"All right, Frodo," he called through the open door. "When will you be back?"
"Sometime tonight," Frodo replied, ducking his head to avoid the top of the door as he entered. He was quite tall for a hobbit. "I've packed enough food to last us all day."
"Are you sure you can carry that much?" Bilbo joked.
"Yes, of course, uncle," he replied. "Besides, Samwise has a monstrous appetite. We shan't get far before most of it's gone."
"True, true," Bilbo muttered. "Now you stay out of trouble, you hear?"
"Yes, uncle," said Frodo, bowing his head again as he withdrew. Bilbo sighed. It was good to be home.
