CHAPTER EIGHT: The wildwood hobbit
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Pippin was hungry.
Hungry, lost, tired, wet, homesick, depressed, and lonely. And there were still a few more sentiments he did not mention.
He had never felt so horrible. Nothing he had experienced in his sheltered life in the Shire could compare to this. Pippin wasn't even sure if he would ever see his comfortable little hobbit hole ever again, and began to regret ever raiding the farmer's crops in the first place. It was all Merry's fault. It was he who dragged him along.
But it didn't matter whose fault it was now, or who was to blame. The fact was that Pippin was lost, and accusations would not magically transport him back home, though it did give him something to think of other than food.
Finally flopping down on the grass after hours of traveling with no real idea of where he was heading, he tried his best to ignore his grumbling stomach. It was one of the most difficult tasks he had faced. Scorched was how his throat felt, so parched that he felt that it would be impossible to speak. He had not eaten since a full hearty meal since that day he was taken from his home, which was a total of…
Pippin tried to mentally count the days and nights since he left, but found that he couldn't. Not being the best at mathematics, he had lost count (or interest) somewhere after the first day. Letting out a long sigh of boredom, Pippin found himself fiddling with the blades of grass under his fingers. A small bird landed gracefully before the hobbit and cocked its head to the side inquisitively.
The Took blinked, turning his attention away from the grass to the animal. "Hullo there," he greeted slowly, not wanting to frighten away the small creature.
The bird stood there and examined Pippin from head to toe.
"Sorry, no food here," Pippin shook his head sadly.
A quiet rustling startled both the hobbit and the bird. As quick as the wind, the bird fluttered away to safety, leaving Pippin behind to deal. Turning his head around to see who was approaching, the hobbit's eyes met nothing out of the ordinary. But yet, he could feel a strange presence underneath his skin that deeply disturbed him.
The rustling was heard again, but this time louder and much closer. Pippin slowly rose to his feet, feeling that it wasn't safe to stay in that place anymore. Immediately picking a random direction and heading off, the hobbit quickened his pace to avoid trouble at all costs. He dared not look back, in fear of what he might find. What if it was a colossal four-legged monster with giant fangs and ugly tentacles? Or a one eyed slimy snake the size of Merry's appetite, with wings that could easily out fly the biggest of birds?
He quickly brushed away those thoughts as mere figments of his imagination. "As Sam's Gaffer would say, 'Never let your imagination get the best of you,' " Pippin told himself. Though he successfully pushed away images of monstrous creatures with bloody fangs, he still continued walking at his hasty pace.
It was a while before he felt it safe enough to stop again. Pippin found another place to rest, namely a nice big clearing with a few scattered boulders suitable for hiding if danger showed its ugly face. He smiled, clearly satisfied with his find. "Pippin, you could be a regular wildwood hobbit!" he praised himself, beaming proudly as he marched straight to the first giant rock and flopped down beside it.
He paused to ponder on that phrase, his face frowning in frustration. "A wildwood hobbit… is there such a thing?" Pippin asked himself. Shrugging, the hobbit dismissed the idea as something of little importance. No point in wasting precious brainpower over something so insignificant.
Leaning back on the rock, Pippin relaxed and closed his eyes. He felt sun shining warmly on his skin as he basked lazily in its rays.
In spite of the facts that Pippin was hungry, tired, and thirsty, perhaps being out of his town had its advantages after all. There wasn't anyone there to tell him what to do, no one to snap at him for his "Tookish behavior", and best of all, it was peaceful. Not a single noise, save the wind whistling happily as it danced by, or that eerie howling echoing through the valleys.
Eerie howling?
Pippin opened his eyes a crack to make sure he was truly alone. There wasn't any being around him that he could see. When he was satisfied with his results, he closed his eyes again and let the warmth of the sun cast a blanket over his body again.
He fell asleep not long after, weariness overwhelming the little hobbit. So deep in his sleep, Pippin did not notice the dark shadow that slowly crept over his entire body. He found himself shivering all of a sudden, the heat of the sun abruptly disappearing. Waking up from the unexpected cold, Pippin opened his eyes to find himself facing two blood red eyes staring straight back at him.
Pippin stifled a scream arising from his throat not to startle the creature. Drool dripped endlessly from the beast's jaws, baring its jagged stained teeth. The first thing that popped into the hobbit's mind as soon as he laid eyes on the monster was its terrifying name: a Warg. He had heard stories of them as a young hobbit, and had only thought that it was a mere myth made up to frighten children. Unfortunately for him, they were not fictitious creatures, but were real as hobbits themselves.
The Warg was hungry, Pippin was sure of that much. How he was going to get himself out of this situation was another story. His hands slowly reached out to grasp at anything that could be a weapon against this vile beast, his eyes never tearing from the enemy. He feared that if he even so much as blinked, Pippin would become the creature's next meal.
The Warg drew nearer and nearer, cautiously approaching his prey. Pippin found that his hand could not find anything that could be of use, unless twigs or blades of grass could miraculously save him from a certain death. As his hand groped across the loose sand of the ground, an idea suddenly popped into his mind.
At the same moment the beast lunged at the hobbit, its mouth wide open and ready to kill, Pippin shut his eyes and flung the handful of sand at the Warg. A loud roar of pain followed, and then the Took opened his eyes to see the Warg shaking the dirt furiously off his head. The sand had found its way into the creature's eye, obscuring its vision and allowing a brief moment for the hobbit to escape.
Not wasting another precious second, Pippin scattered to his feet and ran as
fast as he could. Though he was quite
speedy for a hobbit, he knew that there was no way he could outrun a Warg. He needed a plan, or at least a place to
hide. A quick glance behind him
confirmed that the Warg had recovered from the abrupt attack, and was now
angrier and even more determined to taste the hobbit's flesh. It immediately darted off towards Pippin,
snarling irately at its prey.
Pippin's eyes scanned the area as he ran, desperately searching for a place to hide. And then, like a gift from the heavens, there it was: a deep hole at the side of the mountain big enough to fit a hobbit, but not a Warg.
He was not safe yet. There was still the matter of outrunning the Warg and reaching the short little cavern in time. And if he should dive right into to the hole successfully, who's to say that it wasn't occupied by another pleasant surprise? Then again, better risk it than feel the deadly teeth of the Warg sink into his leg. It was just a gamble he would have to make.
Holding his breath of air, Pippin sprinted as fast as his stunted legs could take him and dove head first into the little hole. Luckily for him, only the entrance was low and small. The shadowy cavern inside was larger and roomier, but Pippin was too frightened to notice. As soon as he sat back up, he scampered to the corner of the cave, his eyes turned to the entrance watching it nervously.
Nothing appeared before it for what seemed like decades. All was peaceful, nothing stirred. Pippin let out his breath, and let his head fall back onto the wall of the cave. He was panting, drops of sweat literally pouring down his face.
An abrupt roar made Pippin jump. He turned to see the head of the Warg pop suddenly into the entrance of the cave and then snap wildly at the hobbit in a frenzy. Acting out of pure instincts, the Took gripped his fist into a ball and gave the Warg the hardest punch on the side of its muzzle with a shout of anger.
And then, the Warg pulled its head out of the tiny entrance and disappeared. Pippin sighed in relief, yet again. Once more had he stared Death in the eye, stabbed them with two of his fingers, turned around, ran, and gotten away with it. It was pure luck that he survived so far, and he still could not believe it. He had always been told that he was a fortunate hobbit, but never did he expect his luck to run this far.
Resting his head against the sidewall of the cave and feeling its coolness against his hot skin, Pippin felt numbness and fatigue take over his body. "I AM a wildwood hobbit," he smiled to himself, realizing how much he had accomplished. He had even outsmarted a Warg! Perhaps he would make it home to the Shire and be able to tell this story to his grandchildren, should he have any.
Not giving this any more thought than it deserved, Pippin closed his eyes and fell quickly asleep, the thoughts of the Warg disappearing from his mind as fast as the creature itself had appeared.