HOBBIT TALES
BY KATHY LENTZ
Hobbits - An imaginary race of half-sized people living in holes, who have been discovered by curious Buena Vista folk in hillsides near creeks and streams.
CHAPTER 1
These Arkansas Valley Hobbits are unique. That's because their ancestors, led by the tall, legendary Hobbit Gregor Goonspeak, left their peaceful farmland homes to go "adventurin". No one really knows why. (Most Hobbits are around 3 feet tall, while Gregor was 4 feet 9 inches. There is some evidence that these Ark Valley Hobbits fish and pan for gold in the many mountain streams, but no human beyond the age of 12 yrs will admit to ever seeing them. The only circumstantial evidence that might possibly prove Hobbits' existence in the Ark Valley is the old name for what is now the the Book Nook, when it was once called "The Hobbit House". (I've heard it whispered that there's a Hobbit Hole in their cellar!) Now if you're a stodgy human adult, you're probably scoffing, "Humph! Fairy Tales!" If you're a kid at heart, you're probably singing, "Tell me more!"
CHAPTER 2
As in any advanced society, the Ark Valley Hobbit Clan’s Chief Tale-Teller (Catty) is a popular elderwoman who must be constantly fed with Silverbell Cakes and Eddy’s Brew. (So that she doesn’t tell tales about you.) So, when Seri, a mid-ager, met Catty while out shopping the other day, she asked ‘What’s new, Catty.’ Catty snorted, ‘If you’ll pop inside for a sip of ‘Eddy’s Brew, ‘I’ll be tellin’ you the latest about Filly’s youngest.’ Like all good Hobbit mommas, Seri was always eager to hear Catty’s newest tale. Both mommas wrapped hands around mugs of Eddy’s Hot Ale. ‘Well, what about Filly’s youngest? ’ asked Seri. ‘Fawn, she is and a mid-tween, maybe 24 and ready for mischief. Starting to want her own Hobbit Hole, if you take my meaning.’ Seri nodded. (Tweens are Hobbits coming- of-age between 20-35 or so, the age group referred to as Terrible Tweens.) ‘The busybody, Rumer, saw her riding a burro into the woods upriver a ways. Now, where do you suppose she was going to?” ‘Well, where was Fawn going?’ asked Seri. Catty smacked her lips over Eddy’s Brew and said, ‘Top it up, Eddy. Up to no good was Fawn, you can be sure when she rode that burro into the woods. That twas yester and she hain’t been seen since. Aye and Topher (Ark Valley Clan Chief) is gathering a ‘Findin’ Troop now.” Seri stood up shakily, ‘I best go fix food for the Finders. Hungry tummies don’t think so well. Is it mischief you’re thinkin?’ ‘Oh, aye,’ Catty whispered. ‘Tis said those Big Folk like to capture wild things for pets. They use traps covered with sticky bun syrup. No Tween can resist that!’ ‘Let’s hope they get a skunk for their trouble,’ said Seri as she paid for their Hot Ales.
CHAPTER 3
Meals are central to Hobbit identity. Breakfast: tea, muffins, toast with jam, fruit. Heavier breakfast: eggs, sausage, bacon, cakes. 2nd Breakfast: coffee, sausages, muffins. Elevenses: coffee, toast, pastry. Luncheon: cold meat, potatoes, soup. Afternoon Tea: scones, biscuits, jam, clotted cream, coffee, tea, mead. Dinner: mutton, beef or game (hare, pheasant),vegetables. Supper: meat pies, boiled eggs, pastries, wine, ale. Tis well-known that a Hobbit is always hungry, especially for mushrooms, sticky bun syrup & pickles. (To name a few favorites.) Next morning while the Hobbit Finders were readying their gear and eating ‘our last meal,’ moaned some of them, Fawn was quietly humming, “My Own Home Hole” just outside the spot she’d chosen as her very own Hobbit Hole. More than a hole, different from a cave, Fawn’s chosen Home was at the roots of an ancient willow. She had carefully trimmed back some large roots so she could stand and move about under the willow’s interlocking roots. It was on its way to becoming a perfect Hobbit Hole, well- hidden from casual view by a thick hedge of scrub oak. Last night, she had made a comfy sleeping spot in a dark corner and happily spent her first time ever away from Topher and her momma Tulip’s Hole. Now Fawn set about unloading the wee burro’s back. Most precious items came first: a jar of starter to make Dwarf Dough; pine nuts; clay jars of honey, pickles - all the foodstuffs to feed a hungry Tween Hobbit. Next came a deck of cards, tiny tins of paint, fuzzy yarn, needles of all shapes and sizes, candle wax, pots for cooking and making. Fawn was resting after unpacking and chomping on a golden apple when she heard it. “Halloo, Halloo, Fawn dearest, where be ya?” She knew her dadda’s voice, Topher, clan chief. “Fiddlegum, they found me!” breathed Fawn. Quickly, she led the little burro into her dugout, hoping that the scrub oak barrier would hide them. And she wondered which would be the lesser fate: becoming pet for a Big One’s family or being led back to the village in disgrace. Empty hope it was, for Topher was a famous tracker who could find a hare’s burrow merely by sniffing. Nevertheless, Fawn hoped.
CHAPTER 3A
Lately there has been speculation among staff and visitors of the Book Nook as to the origin of ‘Ned’s Nook.’ The nook was named by Chris, former Book Nook manager, This is what he told me about the Hobbit, Ned. (Author’s Note) One day in early December I heard an unholy scratching outside the back of the Nook, coming from underneath the cellar door. The scratching was accompanied by some mad-as-a-peacock wailing. ‘Bugleboo Undies, let me out!’ Course I stood still from shock for a few secs, but soon had the cellar door open. There sat a sight I hope to never behold again. Twas a filthy mop-headed boyish figure whose smallish balled-up fists were banging on my shins. ‘Whoa there laddiie,‘ said I, ‘Yer free now.’ ‘Ned is no laddie! In Hobbiton, I, Ned, am honorable elder,’ the three foot high critter huffed. ‘Well, Boyo,’ my six-foot high self responded, ‘Yer not in Hobwhatever now. This Book Nook place, in whose cellar you’re trespassing, is in Riverton, aside the Ark River.’ Seemed this Ned creature, who I soon discovered was a Hobbit, a strange group of small humans who live in holes in hills, told me a tale ye won’t believe about getting lost from his kinfolk, and waking up locked in this cellar, with no memory in between. Hey there, I didn make this tale - twas told to me by Ned Hobbit hisself. After I provided this Ned critter a manly-sized breakfast from Jan’s, Ned let me know that he’d be making the cellar his home, - till something better comes along. All he asked of me was a steady stream of Hobbit food - It so happens we share the joy of constant eating. As for hjs yearning for ale, he discovered Eddy’s Brewery close by and became a frequent visitor to the outdoor vats. In exchange for room and board in the cellar, Ned agreed to create a nook in the Hobbit House (Book Nook) where he would ‘work’ for two hours a night, spending the rest of the night as curious hobbits do, exploring the environs round here. As to his adventures doing so, I know not. If ye ask to see Ned’s cellar hole, ye’ll find nothing but a dirt floor, black widows and rattlesnakes as his tidy, comfy Cellar Hole appears to nosy strangers.
CHAPTER 4
Note from J.R.R. Tolkien:“They possessed from the first the art of disappearing swiftly and silently, when large folk whom they do not wish to meet come blundering by; and this art they have developed until to Men it may seem magical.” Before we digressed with the story of Ned’s Nook, Fawn’s Da, Topher was looking for her and was close to finding her new Hobbit Hole. So, let’s continue. Though knowing of this Hobbit ‘disappearing art,’ Fawn wasn’t sure it would allow her to avoid her father, so she held her breath and waited. Topher was so close now that she could hear him sniffing for her scent. “Arf, arf, sniff, sniff,” it was a dog, not Topher. Fawn concentrated harder on the disappearing art she’d been taught as a tot. A scuffle from a wood mouse nearby and the dog was away. For the first time, Fawn questioned her desire to live wild, away from all other Hobbits. Would she always have to hide from her kin? As she hugged herself close, a single tear shone on her cheek. And, despite her passionate wish for independence, she yearned for her dada’s arms. Was it possible to have both? Later, Fawn wandered the woods gathering firewood, dreaming of a meal with meat -sometime. ‘Course,I can always borrow bacon or sausage from Ma & Da’s Home Hole,’ she mused. ‘But for now I’ll make do.’ A teeny waft of air tickled Fawn’s nose. Mushrooms! Nearby! And there it was – a patch of delicious button mushrooms – Fawn stuffed a handful into her mouth. Another teeny waft of air – sticky syrup drops on a tree branch next to the buttons. What to eat first, or next, or before or after that! Impossible to decide! As she reached her finger for the sticky drops, her arm was grabbed firmly and she was pulled roughly into a cage buried in leaves and sticks and a rough cloth was shoved in her mouth. She fainted. (Hobbits NEVER faint!!!) When Fawn woke with her hands tied in front of her and head bursting with ache, she heard laughter – not hobbit laughing, for sure, but more like giggling –a sound new to her. Then a face close to her –smooth, freckly, cheery. “Got ya!” the red-cheeked face said. “My very own Hobbit pet!” This was a Big Folk! But not a big, Big Folk. Same size as Fawn, with short legs, round tummy, tousled brown hair with non-Hobbit ears poking out- strange looking ears with no pointy tip at the top. The smiling face was friendly and a dirty hand held a mushroom under her nose. Since Topher was nowhere nearby, Fawn knew this situation was hers to handle alone. The smallish human held the mushroom closer until it tickled her nose. “Take a bite, little one –Hobbits love shrooms, eh?” Though Fawn understood the human’s words, its manners seemed strange. Hobbits knew Big Folk had loud, raucous voices, so painful to a Hobbit’s ears that they tended to avoid humans whenever possible. This one’s voice was soothing and kind. It took some time and much patience for Fawn to convince the wee human that she would not be a good pet. ‘In fact, Hobbits such as me cannot live away from our homes. In captivity we dry up and float away on the wind, like fallen leaves. (So, too would our nose drop off at the stink of you!--- Thought but not spoken) And Fawn began to make weeping noises whereupon the human child patted her on her head and said, “Oh please don’t cry, I won’t hurt you.” That was when both Fawn and the human each heard their own father’s cry coming from two different directions “Child, where are you?” They looked at each other, saying, “I have to go now!” Next moment Topher was beside Fawn, releasing her from her bonds, holding her tight in strong arms. And for a brief while, Fawn forgot about her own new home hole. “Let’s go home, Little One,” Topher said. But Fawn hesitated: something felt new, different, in her chest. “‘I am home, Da,” she replied.
CHAPTER 5
General Hobbit Description. About 3 ft tall, more or less, short legs, slightly pointed ears, furry feet with leathery soles resulting in mostly never wearing shoes. Girls & women wore a corset over a simple blouse, a swishy skirt, apron when working, cloak when adventuring. No headwear, just dark curls. World Wide Web – Hobbit/Description Note from Author: Fawn’s head was still woozy with the ‘sleepy syrup’ the human child had given her and she regretted her abrupt words to her Da. But when Topher asked for Hobbit Hospitality at Fawn’s Home, Fawn refused, saying, “Da, I need my very own Home, my very own adventures, freedom to make my very own mistakes.” “Oh, aye,’ said Da..’’Seems another Tween called Topher said the same thing once. I’d like permission to visit, though.” “In time,” said Fawn. “We’ll know the right time.” ‘Would the right time be when your larder is empty, Child?’ Topher looked closely at Fawn’s lips which were trembling oh so slightly, a sure sign a Tween is skirting very near to telling a fib. ‘Oh, Da, I’ll be fine, not to worry yourself.’ While a worried Topher returned to Hobbiton alone, Fawn returned to her Home Hole and found the one book she’d managed to bring with her, settled herself and began reading an ancient Hobbit tome about Bilbo’s adventures called ’There and Back Again.’ It was that book which awakened the need for learning new things that every Tween discovered sooner or later. Though her empty belly rumbled, excitement filled that tummy hole. For now. Hobbit Tweens memorize the Bilbo Baggins story for he is a legend in Hobbit lore and his story is considered the pinnacle of Adventure for Hobbits to aspire to. Each Hobbit Tween imagined themself in Bilbo’s shoes, albeit a different adventure from Bilbo’s One Ring. Some hobbit lads and lasses saw their adventure starting and ending in a Hobbit Hole, often that of their momma and da-da. And, for them, that was enough. But a few, like Fawn, were both admired and criticized for their tendency to come very close to breaking Hobbit norms. Ah, well, didn’t Bilbo experience some misunderstanding about his quest, too? Besides Bilblo’s story, Fawn also knew the tale of a not so long-ago Tween lassie, name of Bellbottom, who left her Home to venture out on her own. Trouble is, no one knew what had happened to her. She just disappeared. Fawn had her doubts about that story. She knew she’d be scoffed at if she told that she knew that Bellbottom’s adventure just began with her disappearance. She knew that, for sure, because of a recurrent dream where Bellbottom invited Fawn into her story. Though Fawn had so far refused Bellbottom’s invitation in favor of wanting her own adventure, she wished she could share a meal with Bellbottom and listen to her story. But present needs first. Tween hunger is nothing to take lightly. It is like a crying infant who insists on being plugged into food, NOW! . And that hunger was mightily affecting Fawn just now. ‘Foolish, Foolish Fawn,’ she stomped around her nearly empty larder. ‘A Tween needs to eat six meals a day, seven when she can, and what have I et today? Shrooms, lots of shrooms! Not enough for a hungry, growing Tween!’ Later, after tantrumming for awhile, Fawn mixed a batch of Dwarf Dough, setting it in the sun to rise. But how was she to fill her empty larder? Return to her former Home Hole and beg for food? ‘Out of the question!’ fumed Fawn. ‘Not gonna happen!’ She recognized there was no other possibility - unless - no, no, not the Big Folk! But then again, hunger has a logic all its own so why not the small human one. Fawn considered this thread of thought - perhaps the small one felt a wee bit guilty after capturing her; perhaps he’d like to make amends? The beginning of a huge Hobbit Tween grin lifted itself despite impending starvation. ‘I’ll find him - he looks well-fed, probably a foot or more taller than me and surely he knows where to get food. And I’m sure he’ll be moved by my ‘poor little me’ stuff.’ Finding the human child was relatively easy. Fawn’s new Home Hole was on the same side of the Ark River as the Village of Riverton. Twas a short walk to the village, a moment to adjust her Disappearing Art and she was off. She found the child running about with other children; he seemed too dazed to respond when she appeared from nowhere beyond saying, ‘What in blazes!’ then hurried after her. ‘Stay close until we get deeper in the woods,.’ Fawn said. The poor boy was too flummoxed to protest. At least just then.
INTERLUDE
Ned Hobbit (he who makes his Home Hole in the cellar of the Book Nook) and Fawn Tween Hobbit (she who is the main protagonist of Hobbit Tales) ask that the telling of ‘Hobbit Tales’ be postponed until Ned and Fawn have a pow-wow about certain points of Hobbitonia that are about to be revealed in the Hobbit Tales. Ned, who is night manager at the Book Nook (aka Hobbit House) was recently contacted by Fawn Tween because, she said, ‘That elder who’s writing the story keeps asking me things about Hobbit History. And, Uncle Ned, you know that’s what all you elders do around the fire while yer sippin’ yer ale. You tell each other stories all bout the ‘bygone times.’ Seems that’s about all you do until time for a bedtime snack. Please, can you tell that nosy elder human that she can talk to you and not me?’ ‘Hmm, well she did let me keep my Hole in her cellar, eh? Seems like a fair trade to me. But only for Hobbit History. You have to tell her what happens to you and Robbie. OK?’ ‘It’s a deal, Unc.’ And that’s how it happened that this author decided to make some Hobbitonia perfectly clear to whoever may still be reading. Let’s see if we can summarize this Hobbit-Human history. It is told by long-ago Hobbit elders that Human and Hobbit began as the same critter. There is no knowledge about whether those ancestors were short, tall, curly headed, furry-footed, big or small-toed, long or short-lived. At some point they became as they are today. Even then, with their physical differences, they tended to live close to each other and traded and even danced together. Who knows what happened for some Hobbits and some Humans had quarreled big time and separated into different towns and ways of living. Among that group were the Haters and the Tolerators. As to other Human and Hobbit colonies, they just sorta grew apart, considering each other distant cousins and every year come together for a week-long reunion, celebrating their common ancestry with hootin’, hollerin’ and all manner of hi-jinks and fol-de-rol. And they do so until this day. As to the Tolerators, many live close by (but not next-door) to each other. That is the case with Hobbiton and Riverton - they tolerate each other’s existence across the River and occasionally when absolutely necessary conduct trade. There are a few Hobbits and a few Humans who share the Ark River who remain Haters. No one knows who they are but of course children from each camp are warned that, if they misbehave, ‘Be careful or the Hobbit Crone (or the Human Troll) will get ye! Also be warned that when Haters hate, they are not satisfied with maiming or disabling the ‘enemy’. Only beheading will do. No wonder the little ones are afraid! And so, sharing ancestors as it seems they do (there’s some controversy there but nothing very scholarly or serious) isn’t it a conundrum some just can’t get along with each other. By the way, there’s no such critter as a ‘Hubit’ as the two groups don’t mate. Hopefully you will now enjoy Hobbit Tales’ with a bit more background. See you next month when ‘Hobbit Tales’ continues. Are you wonderin’ the same thing I’m wonderin’? That is: where does that leave Robbie & Fawn? If you have an idea (cuz i don’t) please leave a message with Ned at the Book Nook. So, with your basic knowledge of Human/Hobbit history, the story continues.
CHAPTER 6
So, with your basic knowledge of Human/Hobbit history, the story continues. Contrary to what us Big Folk might think, there is little likelihood that a Hobbit Tween could starve to death. At birth, they are as chubby as a wooly teddy bear and stay that way their whole lives. They probably have enough extra flesh to last awhile with little food. But don’t tell them that! As far as hunger being a chief motivator of hobbit tweens, the motivation thing has long been debated among Hobbit elders. In addition to hunger, some say greed, some say disagreeing with elders ; a few have shakily suggested SEX, but as far as anyone knows, only one (Gandalf maybe?) has ever posited curiosity. And do you wonder, as do I, if Plain Old Curiosity could be the major force behind Fawn’s passion for having an Adventure. And what about her fixation on her tummy? Possibly merely the need for extra calories while growing quickly. Just a guess, of course. (Author’s Note) After finding the human boy, Fawn led him into a secluded wooded spot, walking on furry tip-toes to soothe him with back pats along the way. ‘Don’t you worry, now, Child, we’ll soon get to know each other and maybe even be friends.’ The Friend thing was a way to get the boy’s help in procuring food. How hard could that be? Easy peasy with a human, eh? That’s when Fawn had a brilliant idea. Impress the child! So, putting on a haughty, queenly face and wrapping her dirty cloak royally around her said, ‘So, what are you called, Freckly One? I am named ‘Maid Fawn,’ she who is soon to be crowned Queen.’ The freckly one looked impressed. ‘I’m Robbie, Yer Honor.’ He dropped to his knees in an awkward bow. Now for the pity part, and Fawn would soon be in charge. ‘Well, Robbie, this Maid finds herself in a small predicament; that is, I am temporarily without food and as close to starving as a Hobbit lass can be!’ Robbie didn’t think that Maid Fawn with her round face and ample tummy looked even hungry, much less starving. But he was impressed by her coming Queeness ‘Do ye know where I can get just some crumbs of bread?’ Robbie was no dumb kid to be taken in by a story of a starving almost-Queen, but he decided to play along. How else was he going to find out about her disappearing act? So he said, ‘Oh yeah, Loback’s Bakery. And ya don’t need any money, I know where they throw out the old stuff.’ But then, instead of leading the way to Loback’s, the Robbie lad took a stubborn stance, feet wide apart, arms crossed, a slight tremor in his lips. “Well, Yer Honor, afore we go, I have a question or two for ya.’ Well, now, every hobbit female very early learns how to ‘answer back.’ So, Fawn dramatically put hands on hips and leant forward, which was supposed to mean, ‘Oh, yeah?” Since Robbie didn’t know this game, he said, ‘Yeah - see I don’t know nothin bout you Hobbits cept that some of the Village Folk say yer all pests and ‘why don’t ya go back to where ya come from?’ So began the first debate the two had, the first of many. Fawn was surprised when Robbie spoke his mind, telling some of the experiences the Village Folk had had with Hobbits. And of course Fawn gritted her teeth while telling stories the other way round. Fawn had to admit that she’d misjudged Robbie who was definitely not a poor little human child easy to sway to her will. When they traded ages, Robbie was amazed that Fawn was a thirty-something year old Tween (his own father was 31) and Fawn was flabbergasted that Robbie was 10 years old (a ten year old Hobbit was not long out of the nursery.) That’s how this very strange friendship began. After a stealthy after-closing hour visit to Loback’s and stuffed with day-old bread, the two began to feel slightly comfortable with each other and made plans to meet in the woods the next day. That was Fawn’s idea, for she had a thought to do with trading something of hers for more food help from Robbie. He, though, was still feeling befuddled with how fast things seemed to be happening with this Hobbit lass. “Guess I’ll just go home and sleep on it,’ he thought. Fawn lay awake that night wondering if ‘money’ was a form of exchange. Hobbits have no currency - they trade for what they need. She planned to sneak back to Loback’s and leave some shrooms in trade for the bread. But she had nothing else to trade with and was still hungry. Or did she? Robbie, after all, was a child and children love surprises. She remembered that when they had seen a cute little pup in the village, Robbie told Fawn that his father wouldn’t let him have a dog for a pet. And so he’d tried for a Hobbit instead. Surely he would jump at the chance to ride a Mini-burro. That was it! What if she traded help with food for Robbie riding Sal? Made sense to try for a trade, eh? In the morning, Fawn rode her burro, Sal, to the meeting place. ‘Wow,’ Robbie said. ‘That’s a small burro - almost like a Mini.’ Fawn laughed, “Sal sure is a Mini. Just the right size for me or you!. You can pet her if you want.’ To Robbie, Sal was the size of a great dane living nearby, and he was delighted with petting the burro. ‘You need to pardon me, Yer Honor, but I’m a mite confused. First you tell me you ain’t gonna be my pet, then you suddenly appear wantin’ food. That Mini yer riding and this mess I seem to be in with you and now you needin food? Guess I don’t know nuthin’ bout Hobbits, after all. All I know is yer supposed to make good pets!’ ‘Sorry about getting you into this muddle, but Hobbit Tweens need a lot of food, and I’m still really hungry! So I have in mind a wee trade between us. How’d you like taking a ride on Sal round Riverton while you show me where the food is. That way, we have an even trade. Sound fair? Are ye in? Keep in mind I have nothing more to trade for food.’ Robbie sniffed his nose, indicating he was in charge (for the moment) and said, ‘Tie Sal to that there bush and let’s eat! ‘Don’t need no money, neither - there’s lots of visitors in town for ‘Golden Burro Days, which means there’s a ton of food sittin round that no one’s eatin’, see. Ya don’t even need that invisible thing you do cuz you just look like yer my little sis. Look there where all them folks are sittin’ outside yakkin’ and not eatin’. Let’s go, just mosey around like me and they’ll think we belong here!’ ‘By gosh and golly, look at all that food,’ Fawn said, starting to snatch a meat sandwich from a man’s hand. ‘Not like that!’ Robbie said, ‘Sorry bout my little sis, mister, she’s just hungry.’ The man and the group he was with made ‘tut-tut’ and ‘poor little thing’ noises, said they were finished and Robbie and Fawn should eat their leftovers. Later, with bellies full and feeling mellow, the companions retrieved Sal from where they’d tied her and walked around the village. Fawn was amazed at the hoop-la way people were celebrating ‘Golden Burro Days’, hooting, hollering, jumping in the lake with clothes on and guzzling kegs of ale. Hobbits loved their picnics and celebrations, too but they all sat around eating and drinking ale and telling stories until early the next morning. Hobbit tykes and toddlers ran around, of course, and fell asleep on the ground round the fire pits. But Hobbit hoop-la’s were quieter and Fawn couldn’t help feeling a superior Hobbit by comparison with ‘those savage Humans!’ Some of the folks they met while wandering asked if Sal was a ‘Mini’ and would she be in the Burro Race next day. ‘You doing the leadin’? A man asked Robbie. ‘No, he’s riding,’ said Fawn. ‘Hey, little girly, don’t yer big brother know that ain’t allowed? Ya gotta lead the burro, not ride it!’ Under her breath, Fawn hissed, “We’ll see about that!’ Turning to Robbie, she said, ‘Not to worry! I be teachin’ ye how to stay on a bouncing’ burro back!
CHAPTER 7
I’m thinking some of my tale followers just might be a mite confused with the whereabouts of this tale. So let’s see if I can unconfuse you a bit. Near the Arkansas River in the Rocky Mountains south of Leadville, there’s a ridge called Sleeping Indian Hill and the Ark River runs at its bottom. On the east of the River is Hobbiton and to the west is Riverton. There’s a bit of neighborly dealing that goes on between the Hobbits in Hobbiton and the humans in Riverton but not much. They each know the other is there but ancestry hatred runs deep on both sides. Keep reading to find out if it makes sense to hate your kin.(Author’s attempt at clarification) We left Fawn, Robbie and Sal negotiating with the high muckey mucks about the Burro Race. Meanwhile, back in Hobbiton across the river from Fawn’s new HomeHole, excitement reigned at cookfires late into the night. ‘That Fawn Tween has lost what little mind a Tween has!’ grumped Catty, the town gossip. ‘Even the great Hunter, Topher, her very own Da, can’t sniffer her out.’ Others of the unsuccessful Finders sighed and nodded agreement between sips of their ale cups. ‘I just hope she’s not come to any harm,’ chimed Seri who had first spread the word of Fawn’s disappearance. When Topher stood, chattering stopped - Hobbit Folk respected their Chief Elder - and listened. ‘Fellow Hobbitonians,’ he began, ‘we speak only truth to each other, so I tell you. Our lassie, Fawn has been found safe though very hungry. She has asked only to be left alone -even I, her Da, don’t know where her new Hole is. Howsomever, I be thinkin’ that the Lassie is close to semi- starvin’ and surely needs some hobbit hospitality.’ ‘O, my,’ choked Seri. ‘I be off just now to pack a basket for the poor lassie and leave it on the other side of the river.’ ‘O, aye,’ chimed in half a dozen other Mommas. ‘‘Stop this foolishness!’ croaked Catty. ‘That bratty little Tween has nothin’ to trade with, I be thinkin!’ Catty was referring to the Hobbits’ way of buying and selling goods strictly barter and trade. ‘Think again,’ a raspy Tween voice belonging to Fawn’s half-cousin, Hexter, answered. ‘For I have a heap of trade goods Fawn herself gifted me with when I passed over to Tweenhood. That’s plenty enough to trade with to fill Fawn’s larder.’ Mad as a wet hen, Catty garumphed and spat. Under her breath, she hissed. ‘I’ll git you yet, you naughty Tween.’ No one, including this author knows why Catty hates Fawn so. Early the next morning, when Fawn found out the gift baskets left for her, she sent out a loud ‘Halloo’ of thanks to her Hobbit clan. And she recalled that the Great Bilbo himself was sent on his way by friendly, generous folk. Still, sadness and loneliness (not to mention already missing her momma’s cooking) threatened for a moment. But only briefly, she’s a Tween for goodness sake. With a full belly and overflowing larder, Fawn’s creative adventuring juices came flowing like spring thaw creek waters. Propped up on a log outside her Home Hole, she mused, ‘Imagine riding a great stallion with the Elfin Folk or learning sword-play with dark-dwelling, somber Dwarves or any number of other fascinating critters.!’ After a morning snooze and more dreaming, Fawn woke and remembered her side of the trade deal with Robbie. ‘Buttergums, why do we Hobbits have to keep our word? Fawn’s adventuring will have to wait.’ So thought the unsuspecting Tween lassie, not knowing about the evil scheming of one Hobbiton gossip. (And maybe a few other bored malcontent Hobbits.) Though how a Hobbit, whose natural tendencies are to spend their after-Tween years ‘unlaxing’ which to them meant moving slowly and only when strictly necessary to cook the next meal, could find the energy to plan and carry out an evil scheme was surely unthinkable. Back at Riverton, Fawn had only a couple of hours before the Burro Race to teach Robbie the basics of Burro riding. The only drawback to Robbie’s riding Sal was that his feet almost reached the ground, which meant he had to hold his legs out straight in rough places. As Race time grew closer, Robbie’s excitement grew. ‘You’ll be there at the finish line, eh Yer Honor?’ Robbie kept his initial awe of Fawn and her so-called royal heritage, even though,, being a foot taller than Fawn, he didn’t actually have to look up at her. ‘Well, now, my Freckly One, sit yerself down and share a sip of ‘Near-Ale’ with me. Tis time to tell ye a wee bit more about meself & me kin.’ For the first time since the two had met, Robbie looked openly at Fawn’s large, furry feet. He’d been shy about mentioning it till now. ‘You mean your wooly feet?’ ‘More than that,’ replied Fawn. ‘I’ll be there at the Race, but ye won’t see me.’ When Robbie looked confused, she continued ‘Ye already know about my Disappearing Art, eh?’ ‘Do ye recall ye almost took me for a pet? Though long ago, Hobbits and Humans were kin, they drifted apart and now don’t get along atall. We’re different, is all, but there are always those Humans who dislike us for our difference and, to be fair, a few Hobbits who aren’t fond of Humans. Here in Riverton, we Hobbits have honed our disappearing art to the point where only a few small Big Folk can see us. Like you, Robbie, me lad. So, I be doin’ the disappearin’ and ye be the Winner of the Burro Race and Hero of the Day!’ A little worry line creased Robbie’s forehead, but he nodded and smiled at Fawn. Fawn smiled back but inside just near her tummy button, there was a teensy jolt like someone had held a burning match there for the merest moment. It was a familiar sensation, happening whenever Fawn had a premonition or ‘THE KNOWING’ as called by Hobbits. And her dreams, bordering on nightmares, kept her moaning softly through the long nights.