In a house by the river there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet house, filled with black mold and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, crumbling, empty house with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-house, and that means comfort.

It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted blue, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a small entryway floored with wooden flooring. An array of walking sticks stood guard along the walls - all of them quite worn, but very well cared-for. Some had pointy metal ends; others were carved and painted. Over the walking sticks, a good many hats hung on as many pegs. The odd dried flower or lost feather adorned them. Three doors led out of the entryway: first to a sunny dayroom where visitors where always welcome, then to a kitchen with bright copper pots and a kettle (for the guests), and lastly to a lovely bedroom where, for now, the owner of the house was still asleep.

Belladonna - for such was her name - was one of the three remarkable daughters of Old Took; where her sisters made names for themselves in beer brewing and horse training, Belladonna had taken the very tookish strain of wandering to an extreme seldom seen before, and seldom after, save in her kindred who travelled all the way to Gondor and beyond, and whose tale is told elsewhere. By the time she was thirty-five, she had published several walking guides to the Shire, one for each Farthing, and even one concerning Bree-land. Being a hobbit, most of the walks led either to or from an inn or an otherwise remarkable (and comfortable) place, but some had no other aim than roaming the countryside and taking in the views. This, in the opinion of most hobbits, would have been queer enough to warrant mistrust - but Belladonna came from the Took family, an eccentric lot whose wealth seemingly excused most of the unusual behaviour. Living alone was another quirk of hers; she claimed the perpetual motion of the crowd of her extended family gave her a headache, and she had left the paternal home after one nibling too many had upset her study and spilled ink upon her maps. She loved them dearly (and that was fortunate, for she had eleven brothers and sisters who had brought their spouses back home and raised their families there) but drew the line at some necessary peace and quiet. This house she had bought with her own money, for her traveling guides sold well: hobbits loved seeing all the knowledge about a place consigned to the soft pages of a book, in a way indisputable and clear. All the better if they already knew these facts, as it affirmed their own knowledge, and if said facts came with reviews for local food and drink.

By some curious chance one morning long ago in the quiet of the world, when there was less noise and more green, and Belladonna Took was huddled in her bed, her brown curls the only visible part of her between cover and pillow, Bungo Baggins came by. Bungo! If you had heard three times of what I have heard about him, and I have heard most of what is worth hearing, you would be prepared for the dullest sort of tale. Bungo was a Baggins - that is, the most quintessential hobbit ever, of a highly respectable family, the kind that is just a bit fat in the stomach and enjoys after dinner naps. There was no wandering strain in him, I am afraid; he considered a nightly walk in his garden the pinnacle of exploration. And yet there he was, gathering courage to knock on the door at an ungodly hour, as the spring sun glittered over the dew-covered garden. After what must have been about a quarter of an hour, he finally braced himself and knocked. No one, of course, answered. So, he gingerly walked around the house, looking at the windows until he got to the drawn bedroom curtains. Taking care not to trample the great lilies that grew right below, he knocked a few times on the glass panels, calling quite loud: "Good morning!"

Belladonna awoke with a start at the noise, nearly falling out of her bed. She had been engaged in a most wonderful dream, where she had somehow found a table laden with the tastiest vittles on top of a high hill with a stunning view, and needed a few minutes to get her bearings. The gentle tap on the window didn't relent, though, and she heard at interval a voice that wished her a good morning. A visitor, then, but no one in their right mind paid any visit that early; even the milkman would have found it a bit too soon in the day. Belladonna smelled no fire and heard no cause of alarm - the only two proper reasons for such an untimely visit. She would have gone back to sleep - indeed, she tried burying her face in her pillow to smother the noise - but, as the fogs of dream lifted, her curiosity awoke. Soon, it was too strong, and Belladonna got up, grabbing her mauve dressing gown before opening the window. This, in turn, startled Bungo, who only managed to squeal: "Good morning!"

"What do you mean?" asked Belladonna. "This morning was good enough without you waking me. Do you mean my morning shall be better by your paying an impromptu call to me? Do you mean this morning is good for you, wether I want it or not, or that it is good all around for all those of good will, and a few of bad?"

"The first one, I think. Or, the second. Can you please repeat them, I forgot their order?"

"Who are you anyway? Your face seems familiar, but I can't quite make it."

To Belladonna's credit, there was very little to be said of Bungo's face. He had round eyes, a short button nose, and his hair was of that nondescript shade that can be said to be either blond, brown, or reddish according to the light. But it was a kind face, sympathetic and, right now, filled with worry. Despite her own prickly approach, Belladonna had a good heart; her eyebrows may frown over her vivacious expression, but she was always one to help her neighbour, if so she could.

"Bungo," said Bungo. "I am Bungo Baggins of Hobbiton, but you may call me Bungo. I am looking for mistress Belladonna Took, the famed traveler."

"You just found her, Bungo Baggins of Hobbiton. Wait, are you crushing my pennyworts?"

With another squeal, Bungo leaped away; his woolly feet had indeed found themselves right over short blue flowers, which he had carelessly trampled. Belladonna gave an unladylike swear, seeing the state of the poor things, and said: "Come to the front door, will you?"

She closed her window, pulling the curtains shut, and hurried to her entryway, opening the door just as Bungo hobbled close, afraid to accidentally harm another beloved plant. To his credit, to one unfamiliar with botany, the garden would have appeared a mess of wildflowers. Spiders weaved their silver webs between great thistles; flower beds overflowed with a great variety of plants, collected from all over the Shire. The whitish-green umbels (not yet fully opened) of tall garden angelicas towered over the alleys, as the last of the spring bloom was underway: aforesaid pennyworts, but also perfumed hyacinths and bluebells, and the occasional May bells. All these and quite a few others made a wonderful chaos of blue, white, and green. The morning dew that sparkled over the irises, together with the fresh air, contrived to make Belladonna's garden a marvel of tamed wilderness.

Belladonna ushered Bungo to the living room, ordering him to sit down. A few minutes later, she came back fully dressed, holding a tray laden with a warm teapot, two cups, bread rolls, toast, butter, jam, and marmalade. After putting a new log into the dying embers of the fireplace, she gave Bungo a fork with instructions to toast the bread, and served them tea. Once she had gulped down half her cup, she said: "Now, let's start anew. What brings you here, Bungo Baggins?"

"Oh," he said, "a terrible, terrible, thing. I would like to hire your help."

Belladonna shot him a sharp look, and said: "I fail to see how that, in itself, would be terrible. Unless you plan to hire my domestic help, in which case, pity your soul."

"No, no, not at all," cried Bungo. "My little cousin is missing, and no one will look for her. And I thought, I thought since you're the greatest traveler of this generation, you could help find her."

Now that was a cause of concern, and Belladonna suddenly mellowed out. Children very seldom went missing in the Shire, on account of the peaceful nature of the land and its inhabitants. Before she was made privy to the account of the disappearance, however, she was told the complex genealogical link between Bungo and this miss Scilla Goodbody - a niece of his aunt's husband from his father's side, who had tragically lost her parents to a pox, and had been taken in at a young age by the Baggins family. Being a hobbit herself, Belladonna understood this information to be of the highest importance, and wouldn't have dreamed to interrupt - she even asked a few questions to clarify the ages and marital alliances of all those involved. To get to the matter at hand, however, it appeared Scilla had vanished a few days ago, saying that she would go for a walk, and never coming back.

"But, pray tell," asked Belladonna, "how old is the poor lass?"

"She's nearly twenty-five," replied Bungo.

Now, I have to say that, even for hobbits whose growth (so to speak) is longer than ours, this wasn't childhood anymore, as Belladonna pointed out. But Bungo said she was a very sheltered youth, and anyway he had always seen her as a younger sister in need of protection. As to why people didn't look for her - it was feared she had followed some Elves who had been seen close by on that day. Belladonna protested: "Elves wouldn't abduct a hobbit! I have met a few on my travels: very polite folks, they always say hello, and never trespass if they can avoid it."

"They wouldn't abduct you, of course," argued Bungo. "You are strong and wise and have a fearsome look." This made Belladonna swell with pride as he went on: "But Scilla is young and naive. Who knows what they have told her? They must have sung her a song of bewitchment to tear her from her home; and you know what they say, that the Elves keep people for a night, but really a hundred years has passed, or that they bind people with promises impossible to fulfill. No one wishes to go after the Elves - at home they say she has brought this upon herself by wandering away and doesn't deserve any help - but please, I want to find her."

Quite sensibly, Belladonna said: "But do you have any proof Scilla was taken away by the Elves?"

"Why else would a young hobbit lady vanish from her loving home?"

After speaking to this Bungo for more than five minutes, Belladonna could have listed from the top of her head at least half a dozen reasons, all without knowing the young hobbit lady in question. But she compelled herself to politeness, and just said: "I suppose you never completely know people." Which was true, but truer still when applied to women of that age and their older self-centered male relatives, as she herself knew very well. "What would you do, were you to find out she had left of her own volition?"

Bungo lost himself in thought as he toasted some more bread over the fire, and he spoke slowly for the first time. "I think," he said, "that, as long as she was safe, I would leave her to her own devices. I'd need to know for sure that she was safe, though."

Belladonna thought to herself that it was the most sensible thing Bungo had said during the short time of their acquaintance. To mark her approval, she poured him some more tea and pushed the jam closer to him. In front of such an obvious (to a hobbit) agreement, Bungo's face lit with a great smile; it showed for an instant what his personality could be like when he wasn't worried sick, and he became suddenly quite attractive. "Will you try and find Scilla for me, then?" he asked tentatively. "I will, of course, cover all of your travel expenses, and a fee of your choosing."

"Absolutely not," was the reply. "Wise people do not go meddling in the Elves' affairs. If Scilla is a guest to them, everything's good. I cannot, for the life of me, imagine them abducting someone, and I absolutely refuse to risk angering them by insinuating so. The Elves' wrath is no small matter, it is said. Let Scilla Goodbody have her adventure; I was younger than her when I first toured the Shire on my own. She'll be fine."

Bungo went from beaming to crestfallen. "But what will people say when she comes back! The scandal! She'll have to face such gossip, and the longer she's gone the worse it'll be. I cannot wish that to poor Scilla. And the Elves do not go by the roads, they cross the Old Forest, and it's so dangerous!"

Belladonna rose with a sigh, her hands square upon her hips.

"I regret to say that my decision is final, Mr. Baggins. Now, will you help me put all of this away, and then you'll be able to get on your way back to Hobbiton. The road is very nice at this time of the year."

"But, but," tried to say Bungo.

"But please carry the tray to the kitchen, Mr. Baggins, while I take care of the foodstuff."

So it came that morning was barely half-way through when Belladonna gently, but firmly, escorted Bungo Baggins out of her cottage. After stretching herself, she went about her business for a while: a house doesn't run on its own, and she had a few chores to get out of the way before she could go to her study and work upon a new map. All the while, she sang, and her song was something like that:

A country fair is on my mind

Of hills, gardens, and shady glades,

Where folks live free, benign and kind:

The Shire is where my heart has stayed.

A land of grass tall and barley,

Place of plenty and abundance;

Young lads there sing, while drinking ale,

Merry as larks, songs of romance.

A kind summer, and clear autumn,

A mild winter, and gentle spring;

Young lasses dance, over the drum,

Pretty as stars, reels of morning.

A country fair is on my mind

I know the Mountains and the Sea

Where folks live wild, and die in kind:

The Shire is where I want to be.

Belladonna opened wide all the windows to let in birdsong and the fresh morning air as she worked. She tidied up her walking clothes, organised the pantry and checked her provisions, and was in the process of polishing her leather rucksack when a sudden crash caught her ear. It came from her study, beyond the living room, and she walked there thinking a gust of wind must have broken something.

What wasn't her surprise when she saw Bungo Baggins rummaging through her library! The noise had come from a small table below the windowsill, where a porcelain vase used to stand. It now laid shattered in pieces on the floor, obviously knocked down when Bungo had clumsily crawled through the open window.

"Oh but the gall of you!" cried Belladonna, and she threw her brush at him. It hit him right on the nose, making him bleed. Hadn't he ducked, the polish bottle would have hit him next; instead, it spilled on the wall behind. He held one of her leather-bound books and squealed (again) as Belladonna charged towards him. They chased each other around the desk until Bungo managed to bolt through the archway into the living room where they had had breakfast, and flashed through the entryway, knocking a few walking-sticks on his way out, before he ran down the path as if Carcharoth himself was napping at his heels (to be true, the famous werewolf would probably have been less bellicose than Belladonna was now). Bungo was much faster than Belladonna expected, but she would have caught him hadn't the milkman's cart suddenly blocked her way, allowing Bungo to disappear in the countryside. She searched for him for a while, to no avail, and grudgingly walked back home to see what he had stolen.

Belladonna's library was the pride of her home. It occupied two of the walls of her study from floor to ceiling, and was chock-full of geography books: both her own, and a selection of the best published ever since Dwarves invented the printing press. Shelves were neatly labeled, first by category, and then by alphabetical order, in Belladonna's precise hand in red ink. She had made a catalogue, but found she didn't need to check it. Only one book was missing; one of her own unpublished manuscripts, a large tome bound in green leather, that was a comprehensive description of the ways in, out, and around the Old Forest.

At first she pschaaa-ed. And then she oh-ed, and she sighed. And she fetched a rag to clean the spilled wax, frowning as she scrubbed. There would be no recovering the wallpaper. She thought, and thought, and came to the conclusion that the Baggins fool - her words, not mine - probably intended to go into the Forest and search for his missing cousin. She pushed a small chest of drawers in front of the stain; she was nearly successful at hiding it. What a fool, she thought; he was probably going to his death, unequipped, unexperienced, uneverything. Perhaps she ought to report the theft to the sheriff, and get him arrested before he put a woolly toe below the great malevolent eaves of the woods - that would have been the sensible course of action. But Belladonna was a Took, and that meant she didn't have quite the same conservative view of the world as your average hobbit. She had always disliked turning to the authorities (familial or otherwise) for her problems. Therefore, to her own grumbling surprise, she found herself filling her rucksack with the necessities for living outside for several days. Young Scilla Goodbody, she felt, was perfectly able to handle herself, particularly if she was halfway to Rivendell with a bunch of elves; her witless, thieving, cousin-by-marriage? Not so much.

And yet he was brave, to go alone to a place everybody feared. Even if he didn't fully understand the risks, he knew the aura of weirdness and malignancy that surrounded the Old Forest. He was trying to do things right and this, in turn, made Belladonna want to help him. Besides, if he died in a ditch, she'd never get her manuscript back, and she had spent too much time and effort upon it to allow it to rot below fallen leaves.

The way to the Old Forest was long, though: Belladonna's home was in the Westfarthing, and it was a fair way to cross the Shire. She thought about going first to Hobbiton, and try and find some Bagginses who could hammer some sense in their younger scion's head. But it would delay her by more than a day, and something told her Mr. Bungo Baggins would take off straight away. Well, it couldn't be helped - and it had been long since Belladonna had set foot in the Old Forest. The mere thought of it made the soles of her feet itch with impatience.

Belladonna finished packing, closed her house, and left to find the East Road some way off. It was highly probable that Bungo was on it; with some luck, she might find him taking a post-luncheon nap in one of the inns that dotted the way, and get her property back without too much hassle. The more adventurous part of Belladonna's mind, however, hoped for a wilder chase.