There is little reason for a hobbit who is sound of mind and strong of
heart to bear ill will toward the entirety of that race which is closest
to his kind, the race of men. Bree is not a place of contention but a
symbol of peace and accord, being the only place where two peoples of
diverse habit can live so well together. After all, we all enjoy a bit of
the Longbottom Leaf now and again!
It came to my attention some days ago that a dark shadow had passed over the
Shire. Indeed, while passing through at a leisurely pace, as I am wont to
do, I heard an ominous sound off the side of the road. Very shortly news
came to my ear that a terrible occurance was afoot! Being an exceptionally
cold winter (although still not approaching the bitterness of the Fell
Winter of 2911 - to which this tale bears striking resemblance), it appears
that a pack of wolves had been driven sufficiently mad by starvation to
be of mind to invade the Shire!!!
Well, quickly a party was assembled to deal with the threat. In a true
show of the allegiance of races, there was among us Hawthorn and Obscura of
the hobbits, Shanek and Truor of the elves, Jethron Halfelven, and myself
representing the race of Men. If it is said that no human ever came to the
aid of the Hobbits, then let myself be the living proof otherwise. And as
to reports of Elvish inhospitality (at least as far as the Havens are
concerned), let the deeds of the elves in this battle be well noted!
In any case we set off immediately to the Shire, where already numerous of
the Bounders had engaged the marauding wolves and suffered grave casualties,
among them several Captains of their kind. I gave a mighty blow to my
hunting horn to let the wicked beasts know that their time had come as we
pursued hotly on the tail of the pack (the path of destruction was quite
easy to follow).
Very soon the great beasts were upon us, outnumbering us three to one and
circling around us with slavering jaws! Slowly they closed in on us,
huddled in a circle, our weapons at the ready. At that moment Hawthorn
commanded the attack (Old Bullroarer be damned!) and plunged headlong into
the wolves as I sounded the charge yet again on my horn.
We were hard pressed, the wolves having a deadly attraction to Hawthorn,
who was sore beset on all sides. Suddenly Jethron rose up in full might,
yelling a terrifying command to the wolves, more than one of which died then
and there from terror alone!
The ring was broken and our ranks closed in quickly on the wolves that
remained. Victory was ours! It was then short work to hunt down and slay
the remaining wolves, unable to flee very far, being bloated on the flesh
and blood of unfortunate hobbits.
The hobbits were ever greatful. We received a warm welcome in Michel
Delving, where we were made honourary citizens of the Shire. But there was
a much more somber task at hand, as the slain defenders of the Shire were
given their final rites. The bodies were blessed and I played a melancholy
requiem to honour their courage. It was a bittersweet day, as the
survivors of the East Farthing (by all accounts Whitfurrows was hit
particularly hard, and the population of Scary is well near reduced by
a quarter!) mourned the dead and at the same time rejoiced the victory
at the Brandywine.
Long live the free Peoples of Arda!!!
Your humble recorder of tales,