Disclaimer: "The Lord of the Rings" and all related items belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This is merely an excursion into Middle Earth as it transitions from a land of hobbits and elves to the domain of man.
The Dark Forest – Part VI
The sawdust is floating, golden, before my eyes. Somehow the sun makes each chip, each flake, seem beautiful. Yet I feel that I am about to sneeze again.
It is not often that one wakes up beneath a table that is much too small a shelter. I must have inhaled quite a deep breath of the dust, for I awoke spluttering and coughing at the wooden dryness in my throat. My eyes feel sore and swollen; I cried myself to sleep last night. My neck is cramped.
There, I have crawled out from beneath that table. The shop door is still open, just as Father left it, and I can hear the bustling of the townsfolk beginning in the street. Watching through the open door, I see several of our neighbours passing, whistling merrily. I am in no mood for such jovialities this morning. I want the reassuring presence of my father and yet I do not; I want to speak to my mother and yet I cannot.
If her sickness is what I believe, this shock will surely not be good for her. I had no reason to say what I did last night. I regret my rash words now.
I believe that I should go look for Father, but I have not the faintest idea of where to start. He might be in the forest, for all I know, although he seems to dislike going there. Unlike my grandfather, Father does not collect his own wood. He lets the butcher's boys bring it to him in huge carts, and then he picks and chooses the pieces that he likes.
Perhaps the tavern? But I cannot see my father going there. He does not drink; at least, he makes an effort to leave the stuff alone. He has told me often that a man who indulges in those fiery liquids makes neither a good husband nor a good father. That, perhaps, is one of the reasons that I cannot understand his behaviour of last night.
Was he mad? Raving in such a manner? I almost expected to see him frothing at the mouth…it frightens me, that scene, for I have never imagined such things to happen to my parents. They are my solid pillars of support, holding me up and guiding me in all that is right and good. I do not know what I shall do if my father does not return home. He must come home soon. I will face the grief of my mother, the wrath of his clients – the disgust of the village people; I will face my own grief.
I shall walk through the town, and try not to dwell on what he said last night. Instead I shall pray to the gods that he is safe.
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