Mainly Concerning a Hobbit – Part 2

A shriek of triumph had erupted from the goblin as he charged at Brassica, his spear held high above him, ready to stab down into her soft flesh, but instead there was a sudden, solid impact against the object she’d grabbed in the grass. The shriek abruptly died away into a wet, rasping moan, then a gurgle, and then the night was silent and the cool metal in her hands was suddenly too heavy for her to hold.

Opening her eyes, Brassica gaped at the slender silver blade protruding from the monster’s narrow chest, dark blood oozing around the point where it had slipped between the goblin’s ribs and pierced its heart. Scrambling backward in the grass, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, Brassica looked around for her brother and spotted him, sprawled in the grass, staring at her with wide eyes above tear-streaked cheeks.

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Mainly Concerning a Hobbit – Part 1

Mustard Colewort had always said that there wasn’t much Tookish blood in the family, but that what there was must all have wound up in Brassica. Whether it was said in exasperation or with fondness was entirely dependent on whether or not Brassica had done something splendidly brave, like climbing to the top of the windmill on the edge of Oatbarton to retrieve the neighbours’ hapless cat, or–not-that-it-had-been-on-purpose-or-even-her-fault-really–something as foolhardy as setting the thatched roof of the Barley Water Inn ablaze with an poorly aimed and dubiously acquired firework.

It was the latter offense that had Brassica stood before her father alongside her little brother Dill, staring shamefully at her toes, while her mother wrung her hands and tutted. The afternoon air hung heavy with the smell of smoke and sodden thatch, the Oatbarton Fire Brigade having done their duty admirably. No one had been hurt, and it wasn’t as though there had been a lot of damage…not an awful lot, really, and anyway it was only thatch and easy enough to replace.

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