The Hut of the Healer
Though I was sound in body, my soul was wounded. My sadness over my brother's death had abated somewhat by the time I had spent with the Hobbits, but this attack had opened those old wounds. I too needed to see the "healer", for a "wounded spirit who can bear?" The better question would have been, "A wounded spirit who can heal?" I was to find the answer to that question, but as of this time, I still had no knowledge of the healing power of love.
At last we rode into a city built upon a hill. Seeing it for the first time, I felt certain that I had stepped into Camelot. The armored men could have belonged at the Round Table, and I waited for Arthur to greet me. The Hobbit was breathing heavily, and I really began to fear that he would not last until the Rider could find these healers. But at last we reached a thatched roof hut. The horse stopped so suddenly that I nearly fell. I confess that I was not at all impressed with the manners of this Rider. He dismounted quickly, grabbed the Hobbit, and whisked him into the hut. I slowly followed. The hut was dark inside, and I had a vague impression of a fireplace, and some older ladies running around lighting candles. I looked around for the Hobbit and found him lying on some sort of table. The Rider was conversing with the old man who was looking at the Hobbit's wounds. Presently the man said something to the women, and they began to bustle about feverishly getting bandages and herbs and the like. I felt very in the way, thus sidled over to the fireplace and sat on some flour sacks. I hadn't realized I was tired until I awoke. The Rider shook my arm and told me that the "halfling" would live. I must have fallen back asleep, for that is my last memory of the healer's hut.
Though I was sound in body, my soul was wounded. My sadness over my brother's death had abated somewhat by the time I had spent with the Hobbits, but this attack had opened those old wounds. I too needed to see the "healer", for a "wounded spirit who can bear?" The better question would have been, "A wounded spirit who can heal?" I was to find the answer to that question, but as of this time, I still had no knowledge of the healing power of love.
At last we rode into a city built upon a hill. Seeing it for the first time, I felt certain that I had stepped into Camelot. The armored men could have belonged at the Round Table, and I waited for Arthur to greet me. The Hobbit was breathing heavily, and I really began to fear that he would not last until the Rider could find these healers. But at last we reached a thatched roof hut. The horse stopped so suddenly that I nearly fell. I confess that I was not at all impressed with the manners of this Rider. He dismounted quickly, grabbed the Hobbit, and whisked him into the hut. I slowly followed. The hut was dark inside, and I had a vague impression of a fireplace, and some older ladies running around lighting candles. I looked around for the Hobbit and found him lying on some sort of table. The Rider was conversing with the old man who was looking at the Hobbit's wounds. Presently the man said something to the women, and they began to bustle about feverishly getting bandages and herbs and the like. I felt very in the way, thus sidled over to the fireplace and sat on some flour sacks. I hadn't realized I was tired until I awoke. The Rider shook my arm and told me that the "halfling" would live. I must have fallen back asleep, for that is my last memory of the healer's hut.