Mainly Concerning a Hobbit – Part 6

After leaving his sister on the banks of the Brandywine, Dill had run through the dark of the night, darting from shadow to shadow, imagining goblin cries on every breath of wind. He arrived outside his Uncle’s house panting, and feeling as though his lungs were on fire. Only briefly regretting the lateness of the hour and the fact that he’d be waking everyone up, he grasped the handle of the bell outside the door and rang until his hand was numb. The hobbits who emerged intent on giving him a sound telling-off were quickly enlightened as to the nature of the situation, and formed a search party, made up of his Uncle Hob, a gaggle of cousins, and the two or three apprentices who’d come up to learn the glass-blowing trade. With Dill at the head, they’d tromped off into the gray half-light of the late watches, brandishing torches and stout cudgels, and grumbling about it was just like Brassica to drag them all into such a foolish escapade, and especially Tookish that she’d do it when any sensible hobbit ought to be in bed.

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Mainly Concerning a Hobbit – Part 5

Looking around the bank, now that it was decided that they would be attacking the goblin encampment, Beldrieth frowned. “You should not stay here,” she cautioned. “I mean to let none escape us, but if they should, I do not want to risk driving them straight into your little camp. Although,” she cast an eye over the goblin corpse in the grass and then looked at Celebarad meaningfully, “clearly they are less dangerous to you than they were to an Elf without the sense to keep his wits about him when wandering a strange wood.”

Standing up herself, so as not to feel quite so small compared to the three big-folk who towered over her, Brassica picked up the silver knife from where she had dropped it in the grass when Beldrieth had appeared. “That was mostly luck, ma’am…if I hadn’t had this, he’d have skewered me for certain.” Still a little shy around Celebarad, particularly now that he stood at twice her height, she offered the knife back to him once more, holding it gingerly by the blade.

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Mainly Concerning a Hobbit – Part 4

Brassica tightened her grip on the knife hilt, and lifted it to strike at the hand that scrabbled at the riverbank, when a voice called softly from the darkness outside the halo of light and safety cast by her fire.

“Hold, halfling,” came the command, quiet but firm, and Brassica whirled around to the sight of the second elf she’d ever seen in her life. This one had approached from the north, the same direction Dill had left in, but Brassica hadn’t seen or heard her coming until she reached the small circle of firelight. In her slender hands was a bow, an arrow notched on the string, but undrawn. (more…)

Mainly Concerning a Hobbit – Part 3

“Perian,” the elf whispered, and even though he spoke softly, the sound of a voice so near her ear snapped Brassica from her dreams and into wakefulness.

She rubbed her eyes and squinted up to see the moon was higher than it had been when she’d last closed them. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and looked around hopefully, thinking that perhaps Dill had returned, but he was nowhere to be seen. A little discouraged, she sat up and shifted to sit next to the elf, wondering what he wanted. “Perian, yes. Me. What’s wrong? What can I do for you?”

He didn’t appear to understand, but once he had her attention, he looked pointedly around the little hollow where they rested, and then pointed to her again. “Tad. Tad perian. Halfling. Man sad lin mellon?”

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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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