a boyfriend, and trying to get a job. But it feels good to be back.)
Smeagol in all his haste, did not watch where he was going and stumbled over something in the ground; most likely a tree root, he guessed. Cursing loudly as he fell, and rushed himself up on his feet, fast enough to make him dizzy, and he stopped for a moment, waiting for his vision to clear. He had no idea where to run now. He hadn't heard Hope's voice for fifteen minutes, and had gone beyond panicking.
"Hope?" he called out, listening carefully for some response. "Hope!" he shouted a little louder. No answer. Of course there wouldn't be, he thought. Even if she had gotten away she'd be no doubt be out of hearing range. She runs fast, he kept thinking to himself. She out ran him. But he shook his head and closed his eyes. How could he have left her alone?
Turning around to at least see what he had tripped on, he spotted a wooden handle protruding from the ground. Bending over he grabbed it and pulled it up, holding it up to better see it. The handle was not very long and at the end of it was an axe head. There was blood splattered on the sides of it that was still wet, and he dropped it taking a big step back. He felt sick to his stomach and looked around at the ground, searching for footprints for at least a sign of an escape from the fight.
There were footprints, but faint ones, and none of them looked like Hope's, at least not that he could tell. "Hope!" he shouted louder, his face draining of color as he thought more about the scream and the bloody axe. "Hope!" he practically screamed. "Answer me! Hope!" There came a loud crack of thunder and it began to rain. Smeagol's mind went frantic, trying to decide on what to do next.
He needed to get help, let people know. If it wasn't Hope's blood that still meant that it was someone's. He untied his neckerchief and unfolded it, wrapping it around the axe head so the blood wouldn't wash off in the rain, and then headed for the village. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes as he thought of what could have possibly happened, but he did his best to put the pictures out of his mind. 'I won't believe it,' he thought. 'Not until I see the body...'
----
Hope was soaked from the rain by the time they reached the small house in the middle of the woods. Whoever this hobbit was, it was very clear that he didn't want to be a very close part of the village. He set her down in front of the fireplace and lit a fire quickly. It wasn't until he reached in front of her that she saw the blood on his arm. There was a nasty gash on it, probly from the axe, and she shuddered at the thought of how he could have lost his arm altogether.
He didn't say a word to her as he moved around, grabbing blankets for her to wrap up in. When he came to her with the pile he set them down beside her and looked at her wet jeans and shirt. "You need ter take those off," he finally said. "They need ter dry."
"Who are you?" she asked. Her curiousity about him had built up so much that she could hardly take it anymore.
"My name is Matteus," he answered. "But it'll be Matt ter you. I don't allow people ter call me by my full name unless I like them." Hope knew this was an insult, but ignored it.
"And why did you help me?"
"The village thinks I'm trying ter kill you. I had ter clear my name somehow." There was something dishonest in his answer, but again she ignored it. "Now get out of those wet clothes. You'll get sick in 'em."
"No," she answered. "Who was that who tried to kill me?"
"No more questions," he growled. "You need to change out of those clothes!"
"No!" she insisted. "Who was that?" Matteus growled and waved her off. "He tried to kill me, I think I deserve to know who he was!" she snapped. In truth she was now only looking for an excuse to not strip down in front of this hobbit she hadn't, up until almost an hour ago, had any trust in. Now the trust was fading again.
He walked off down the hall and she wanted to chase after him, but she knew trying to get up on her ankle would be the second or third biggest mistake she had made that day. So she waited impatiently moving closer to the fire as water beads fell from her hair and splattering on the wooden floor. It did not take long for him to return, and when he did he was grumbling to himself while carring two folded items. It wasn't until he handed them to her that she realized they were a pair of pants and a shirt. She looked at them, and then back up at him. "Well I'm not changing in front of you if that's what you want," she said stubbornly. Grumbling again, he got up and walked away.
Hope waited until his footsteps were at a distance far enough to satisfy her and she got dressed as quickly as she could, which was harder than expected when she remembered she couldn't stand. When she finished she waited for him to return and he came with bandaged to tend to her ankle. Her eyes never left the wound on his arm, which he either hadn't noticed or was ignoring, and didn't say a word as he set to work on her ankle, though she did fight bakc screams when she felt how badly it hurt.
-
(To be continued...)