Hey, Calenglad.

Lilyberry tapped Calenglad on the shoulder. When he turned around, the fat little minstrel snickered and slapped him.  “That’s from Gandalf,” she explained.

The ranger gaped down at her.

I just stared.

“Oh, wait.” The chubby hobbit lass grinned. “It was from Aragorn.  So is this letter. He’s decided he can finally quit you.” She winked and leered as she handed Aragorn’s letter over. “I read it.”

Calenglad glanced it over impassively, then muttered something at Lilyberry. He reached down by the fire and handed her something.

“Don’t you-” I began.

Lilyberry’s explosion interrupted me. “What do you mean you cannot trust the words of this letter?!  And why are you giving me pie?”  She stepped back and crossed her arms in front of her, scowling at the ranger.  Her next words were annunciated very clearly and loudly.  “I want GOLD. I came all the way from RIVENDELL.”

I cringed.

She turned away from the ranger and whispered loudly to me. “He wants me to earn trust from his fellow Rangers.”

I sighed apologetically at Calenglad and shrugged at Lilyberry, starting to voice some comment about the value of trust.  Her attention shifted back to Calenglad, and she sidled closer to him.

“Hey Calenglad. . . ” She murmured. “Wanna blow the Horn of the Dwarrowdelf?”*

I don't know her.

*Reference to this.

Fog in the Shire

It rained earlier in the Shire — and then, after the sun set, there was mist all across Michel Delving. It was so still that I could hear the frogs croaking all the way from Frogmorton.

It was a dark and froggy night. . .

Sauron’s Hussy

Lilyberry berates a Healer.

“YOU!” shouted Lilyberry.  The little hobbit bristled and emitted a feral growl.  She was standing right in front of Ailin, who acts as a healer to the honest denizens of Western Malenhad.

I pretended I did not know Lilyberry and tried to think of a way to smooth over the insults that seemed inevitable.

“Living in a place like this,” the hobbit lass snarled, sounding cranky.  She pointed over her shoulder toward Eastern Malenhad and stared hard at the healer. “What’s WRONG with you? There are evil statues that suck the life right out of you!  RIGHT OVER THERE!”

Ailin ignored her.

Lilyberry got that obstinate look in her eyes and screeched,  “You’re IN LEAGUE with the EVIL, aren’t you?!”

I cleared my throat and motioned that we should continue on.

Lilyberry ignored me.  She pointed a chubby, stabbing finger at the healer. “HUSSY!” She accused. “You’re Sauron’s HUSSY. That’s right!”

I muttered that it was time to go and did so quickly.

The hobbit caught up with me.

She always does.

Visions of War

I had a wretched time of things today.

I woke up in an unfamiliar location with a bit of a bump on my head.  A local explained that I’d apparently been exploring, took a tumble off a mountainside, and then was knocked unconscious by a rock-throwing maddened hill beast.  The local sold me some foul smelling brew to ease my troubles.

Later, still feeling rather dreadful, I made my way to Evendim to look for various mathoms.  Nosing about the ruins, a kergrim spied me and gurgled threateningly.  I shrugged it off, only to be hit with an insulting faceful of something suspiciously vile. I suspect it originated from one end of the beast or the other.  On a whim, I carved the carcass up to see if Glosmir might be interested in kergrim bits. He makes the most amusing face when he’s disgusted.

My butchering was interrupted by a quartet of tomb robbers, and I slunk home in the rain.

However, Glosmir was most appreciative of kergrim bits.  He was willing to pay nearly two silver per wart, ‘The squishier, the better,” said he. And, “See if you can get some of the skin next time- it’s particularly fine.”

Fine for what, I wonder!

Mmm... LOTS of squishy warts.

Forochel

I began some tentative explorations of Forochel today.   I avoided the wolverines. They smelled bad and looked a little angry. The locals, very untrusting sorts, avoided me.  (I hope I didn’t smell bad.)

The night sky was beautiful, bright with icy stars and shifting curtains of dancing green flame.  Held rapt by the sky, I fell into a pond outside Korkea-Jaarvi. It is very, very cold there.  I hear there is a massive ice bay worth viewing farther north.

My goodness. Fire and stars!

Traveling in Company

I have acquired a traveling companion, a rambunctious young hobbit named Lilyberry.  She was curious about exploring the world beyond the edges of the Shire, so I allowed her to accompany me on a trip to Imladris.

Upon securing the safety of the Last Homely House, she became most strident about some of the dangers faced in the High Moor.

“See the world, she said,” Lilyberry complained to anyone who would listen, stabbing her finger at me.  A dwarf looked at her sympathetically and handed her his pipe.  She looked at it and talked louder.  “O, and the world has GREAT BIG BEARS VIF TEEF LIKE DIF.  And flies, flies with giant needly sucker things that-”

I interrupted her tirade and pointed out that it was good to broaden her horizons.  Particularly since the rest of her was rather broad.

“Yer callin’ me fat,” exclaimed Lilyberry loudly.

“Wide,” I suggested, motioning for her to keep her voice down.  A pair of scholars looked over at us, frowning.  “Well nourished?”

Lilyberry patted her paunch and rear. “I,” she announced, “am a well-shaped figure of hobbit feminity shape. Not all… drawn and stretched-out lookin’ like an elf.”

It went downhill from there.   She found it necessary to take up smoking for the first time in Lord Elrond’s house and started retching.  I counted it a blessing when she procured a bottle of Dorwinion wine and fell asleep.

HHHAARGHHKK.

Fasach-Larran

I found a place that is steeped in dread.  It is a place where the earth is charred, an ashen wasteland dotted by the limbs of starving trees and sickly shrubs.  The sky burns there.

I do not know how men of Aughaire can live in such a place and call it home.

I stayed as long as I could, but it reminded me of things I would rather forget.

Obviously someone left the gas on here.

Warm!

It may not have been that good of an idea to go splashing through puddles in the Shire.  I think my boots are ruined with mud.   It was a relief to get home and curl up in front of the fire with a mug of hot cider and a long-forgotten book of poetry borrowed from the enclave in Duillond.

Thawing out.

Puddle Splashing

It was a cold, rainy day in the Shire, so grimly chill that my breath steamed. The puddles were good for growing things, I am sure, but better for splashing in.  A group of travelers shot some shocked and stern looks my way.  Should I act my age?

I stopped to converse with a Bounder near Buckleberry Ferry.  He was in good spirits despite being soaked through.

Actually he was quite grumpy and refused to speak with me at all.

How about this weather we're having? No?

Snow Angels in the Misty Mountains

I was making snow angels around the western Bruinen Source this afternoon and got into a disagreement with a rather territorial rock worm.  I dispatched the worm and turned my attention to a sniggering Corcur bowman nearby.  Despite my pointed attempts to gain his attention, the man was just standing there. In a daze.

I finished off the dazed bowman, then utterly confused, I turned and looked around.  There was a small hobbit watching me, a hobbit who waved and bowed to me. I realized I knew his face.

It was Teflo!

“Good stars,” said I.

“It has been far too long, my  lady.”

“I lose track of time far too easily, it seems.” I glanced at the Corcur bowman bleeding out his last on the ice, then again regarded the hobbit.  After the savage visages of snow beasts and the angry glares of the Corcur, his face was a welcome surprise.

Teflo shook his head slightly.

“You are rather far from home,” I commented. “I had certainly not expected to see a familiar face here.”

I wondered how long he’d been watching me roll around in the snow.  How embarassing!

You're laughing at me, aren't you.