Chapter two

For a week Frodo couldn't get the young woman out of his mind. She was so strange, so different from any race he had ever seen. He wondered why she was so bitter and why she hated hobbits so. He pondered about it when he was weeding the garden or cooking dinner, or when he was walking alone in the open fields of the Shire.

Her face was haunting him, because he had faced few things that he couldn't figure out. She was something that Frodo couldn't even begin to understand. He wanted to see her again and ask her all the questions in his head. But even if he saw her again, which wasn't likely, the idea of her sitting down and having a friendly conversation with him seemed near impossible.

He told no one of their meeting, not even his dear friend Sam Gamgee. As much as he could trust Sam, he didn't yet feel comfortable talking about something of that sort. It was something that he needed to deal with first before he could consult his friend. He walked to the edge of the Shire, which was a considerable walk, but not one he was unfamiliar with.

When Frodo was younger, Bilbo had always instructed him to never stray past the forest that separated the Shire from Bree. And though now Frodo was alone at Bag End, he never strayed past the woods. Whether it was out of habit or respect for his passed uncle, he wasn't sure. But it was a promise that he had made to Bilbo and himself.

These trips sometimes took Frodo a full day, so he always packed food, drink, and clothes with him. He needed no light, because on the days he went were the days there was a full moon. It was much easier to travel by a natural light. But on this night, as he walked through the tall grasses of another open field, clouds grew dark and covered the bright moon. Frodo was plunged into a deeper darkness than he was used to.

He put down his bag and took out a flint. He struck it against a torch he packed just in case, and held it in front of him. In his circle of warm light Frodo felt safe, but what made him uneasy was the feeling of other things around him. Chills crept up his spine, and he froze in place when he heard a scream to his left. It was quite close, he calculated. His fear turned into urgency as he rushed forward towards a stand of trees that signaled the border of the Shire.

I promised not to cross, he thought. But then, Bilbo wouldn't want me not helping someone in need either.

His mind was made up and he felt no remorse for his decision to help the one that was in trouble. His heart beat fast, not just because he was running, but also because he was scared out of his mind. He had no weapons to speak of besides the torch in his hand and the frying pan in his pack.

He saw a light in front of him and he ran towards it, thinking that was where the scream had come form. He found nothing but a tipped over lantern and footprints, small ones but larger than his own. An extinguished fireplace rested near the lantern, still smoking and coals still burning a fiery red glow.

"HELP ME!"

A female voice shrieked from the woods, and growls and snarls followed. Frodo wasted no time, and found the girl from the week before lying on the ground, backed against a fallen log and three very big wolves. The wolves snarled and saliva dripped from their jowls, eyes glowing an eerie yellow.

"Back!" Frodo yelled, his voice trembling slightly.

"Back, beasts, back!" He waved his torch towards them, and the wolves back away. One, however, lunged at Frodo's arm and nipped it, tearing his shirt and opening his flesh.

Frodo cringed but did not cry. He stuck the torch into the wolf's face and burnt the end of the beast's nose. The wolf yelped, pawing at his wound and scorched eyes and stumbled blindly into the woods, tripping over rocks and roots as it hurried away.

The other two, though not hurt, found Frodo a small, but worthy opponent and dashed after their wounded kin. Frodo stood, clutching his torch in one hand and his wound in the other. The blood stained his shirt and dripped down his arm, but nevertheless he crept his way to the girl, lying still on the ground.

Her leg was torn with four semi-deep gashes, enough that her leg was unable to be moved. She was in too much pain to speak, her face twisted and her eyes looking as painful as her leg did in the torchlight. Frodo knelt down next to her, examining her face.

"I know you don't like me, but I do not need someone to be friend in order for me to help them when needed."

He took his pack off and rummaged for one of his spare shirts. Holding the torch in one hand, he was unable to use both hands to rip it. Instead, he took one part in his mouth and pulled with his injured, but free hand. A long strip ripped off, enough to wrap her wound.

He took out some ale from his pack as well and undid the cork.

"I'm sorry," he said earnestly, pouring the contents of the ale onto her wound. She screamed in pain, contorting her body and cringing horribly.

"It'll keep you from getting ill." Frodo promised, and wrapped the wound skillfully, tying it at the end.

The color came back into her face and she glared at Frodo in amazement.

"Why did you help me? After what I said before…"

Frodo grinned slightly as he smoothed out her bandage.

"Well, for one I didn't know it was you that was screaming. So by the time I got here, it was a little too late to turn back."

Her face scowled like his had the day he first met her.

"But the real reason was that I hoped you'd think more kindly of me if I helped you. Again."

Frodo stood up, stuffing his torn shirt into his pack along with his empty ale bottle. He failed to notice the softness that came over her face when he said those words. But it didn't last long, for her face hardened again when he looked at her. His eyebrows lowered.

"I also hoped you'd think kinder of my people."

He stuck the end of the torch into the damp dirt making it go out, and he stamped on it to make sure no sparks were left alive. He sat down by a tree a distance away from her.

The girl sat up, eyeing Frodo.

"Why are you still here?" she demanded to know.

Frodo answered with a cool voice, "I have no intention on traveling with those wolves still about. And besides, I'm quite tired and this spot seems perfect for a rest, if I don't mind saying, my lady. Oh, and by the way, my name is Frodo."

The girl just stared at him in wonderment, slowly shaking her head.

"Why are you so persistent?" She asked.

"Usually I'm not, my lady." Frodo answered, laying down a blanket on the ground and pulling it over him. He rested his head against his pillow.

"Then why are you so with me?"

Frodo looked up without moving his head.

"That's a question I cannot answer. Go to sleep my lady. The hour is late."

He closed his eyes, when the girl spoke.

"My name is Tillia."

Frodo's eyes snapped open.

"A name that means "tiller of the earth", no doubt."

Tillia scoffed. "That's not of your concern. Be thankful I even mentioned my name to you, Hobbit."

Frodo closed his eyes, but his lips bent into a grin. She was opening up to him at last.