It's raining, hard. Bouncing off the water in front of you meaning that each individual drop forms a miniature fountain in the puddles beside what's laughingly called “the road”. You've been travelling for some days with the end of your journey still a long way off, and although it's beginning to get dark, there is little or no hop to finding a dry camp-site, and rather than stopping the urge is to just carry on regardless. The road snakes off into the distance through rain and mist shrouded hills and valleys with the odd stone standing in the way, their grey stone glistening in the rain. A distant roll of thunder serves to emphasize just how bad the weather was getting.
A small copse of trees, some distance ahead provides the promise of possible shelter. Hopefully in amongst the trunks of the Oaks, and elms there will be some small patch of ground where you can set up a camp-site. The odds of finding dry wood for a fire are remote but there's more of a hope amongst the leaves than there is out here.
A distant wolf howl sounds, lonely and mournful off to the North, some distance away but even so that's not particularly reassuring.
Plodding on, one foot in front of the other with a determined pace. Just say 20 paces to that boulder and then another 15 to that tree stump. Then just a few more to the trees. It's not that far. Easily doable before it gets too dark to see.
The ground starts to suck at your feet. If the road had ever been properly made with cobbles like the Greenway out west, then this wouldn't happen. The extra effort of having to pull your feet out of the ground suddenly makes the tree-line seem a lot further off.
“Hullo, Hullo. Greetings and salutations on this fine evening.” a voice. Your hands flying to weapons, you look around sharply before a shape detaches itself from the tree-stump ahead of you. The shape waves.
“Hullo, no need to be frightened I'm over here. Can you see me?”
The shape approaches and defines itself into the shape of a hobbit wrapped in an oilskin, the water running off him in a stream.
“Lovely weather we're having isn't it. I suppose we shouldn't really expect anything else though given the time of year,”
The shape of a bow stands out from under the oil skin and a quiver of arrows seems to be slung across his back.
“Anyway, I saw you walking from my camp-site and was wondering if you'd care to join me for some supper. It's just in a little cave, a little distance off the road. I have hot water and a decent sized fire going. Oh please forgive me, my name's Denegar Fernleaf if we haven't met. I'm afraid I really can't tell in all this weather. Are you coming? I have Baked Rabbit and some stew, and in the morning I'll check my snares to see if I've caught anything but I'm sure I can rustle up some sausages failing all else. Come on, it's just up this way.”
Denegar leads you off the road towards a gap between two stones, easily missed in the rain. The path bends to the left and goes up a fairly steep slope but Denegar dances up ahead of you helpfully and cheerfully pointing out hand-holds and foot holds as you go.
“ I saw you a little while ago really toiling against the wind and the rain. Dreadful isn't it, and I thought to myself, there's a person that could do with a bit of hot food and good company to warm thenm up on an Autumn evening. I flatter myself dreadfully in saying that I'll be good company, but I don't think that there's anything else that I can say to prove that I will be. I would also kind of hope that the promise of hot food, hot water and the promise of somewhere dry to sleep will be more than enough to convince you that I'm an Ok sort. Well here we are, make yourself at home.”
At first the cave doesn't seem to go back very far into the side of the hill but Denegar reaches out and pulls aside a curtain, the weave and pattern had seemed so like the colour of the earth that it had looked as though the cave didn't go back any further. Denegar smiles at your expression.
“A gift from an elf. I told him that I wanted something that hid firelight from prying eyes and he produced this for me. When you're expecting it, the effect is a little reassuring, but I'm always reassured when visitors react to it.
The Wolf howls again and Denegar's face hardens. Turning to scan the view.
“Well, he'll be cold and wet tonight. I'll have a look for him tomorrow, presuming the weather turns a bit dryer. Go on, go in. No sense in standing out in the cold and wet.”
Pushing past the curtain the cave opens out into a much larger area. The heat emanating from the fires breaks over you like a wave raising awareness of clammy skin and wet feet. One wall is completely taken up with stacked firewood, a small neat bed roll is laid out next to it with the coverlet pulled back as if inviting someone to sleep in it. There are a few fires. The main fire gives off most of the heat light and warmth with another smaller fire off to one side with a large metal pot sat over it which is steaming.
“Well,” says Denegar carefully un-stringing his bow before taking off and shaking his oil-skin. It's not much, but it's shelter. I've curtained off an area towards the back of the cave with an older blanket so that you'll have some privacy and I've started you your own fire with some water heating up. If you don't have any dry clothes there's a fur cloak that was given to me by the Lossoth of Forochel there that I've hung up to warm so that should be nice and snug. Don't worry about size. They'd made it to fit one of their own warriors and couldn't understand me when I said it was too large. I tend to use it for a blanket in winter months to be honest but it should be fine for use.”
Denegar turns away and sets to work, carefully drying and cleaning his bow. Underneath his oilskin, he 's wearing what looks like and old and slightly faded tabbard that shows the colours and patterning of the Bounders of the shire. He wears that over a light mail shirt and some reinforced leather trousers. On his head sits a faded green cap with two feathers poking out of it. The effect is rather comical but Denegar removes that hat with some care and places it next to his bed roll.
“I don't live here of course. But this is one of many little camps that I maintain around the wilderland. I got the idea from the Rangers you know. Apparently they have camp-sites all round the north where they store firewood, emergency supplies and so on. I say apparently because I've never found one of these caches and I look almost every single day. But I thought that that was a really good idea. So I spent some time looking around for some sheltered areas where I could hold a camp, stack firewood, leave some dried food and things so that if I, or any of my friends find themselves in dire straits then they'll be able to go to one of my little shelters and rest up properly from their journey. But there we go. Are you feeling any better. There should be a towel somewhere back there for drying yourself off and there are spare blankets back there as well, although I should spread them out a bit before the fire in case they're a bit damp.”
You can hear Denegar humming quietly to himself from round the curtain. True to his word, supplies are laid out and you set about the task of getting warm and dry. The clatter of wood and the smell of a deep tobacco starts to waft around the cave.
Coming back round you find denegar sat next to the fire, painstakingly cleaning and drying each of the arrows that he'd removed from his quiver.
“Ah, you feeling better. Nothing is ever quite as good as the feeling of warm and dry clothing after a long journey in the rain. Tobacco? I grow it myself so I have several different blends. Ok, so if you just want to take a seat I'll see what I can do about completing the cure.”
Using a long stick Denegar pokes and rolls two smallish stone balls out of the fire.
“I'm not the best camp-fire cook in the world but I can make a meal that I'm not ashamed to present to other people. So first course is rabbit.”
Setting the balls to one side. Denegar takes to small wooden plates from a nearby bag. He then Uses a nother nearby stone to crack the balls which instantly releases the smells of roasting meat, with Garlic and some other scents that you can't recognise. Denegar smiles at you.
“Rabbit with some wild Garlic. Also some salt and some Sage to fight off colds which I think we could both use if we've been out in the weather.” Using a dagger, he scoops out a small portion onto each plate before handing one over. He then takes the rest of the rabbit and throws it into the smaller pot before giving it a stir.
“I always try to just make some rabbit stew, but I can never resist the meat when it's just taken straight out of the fire. So fresh and tender. Also every single time I cook this it comes out different. Just the way it should as well.” Denegar takes a moment of pure culinary delight, closing his eyes and focusing on chewing. When you both finish he takes your plate and rinses it off from a water skin hanging from a stone out cropping.
“I'm sorry I don't have anything to drink. But I can make you some tea later. Also a dwarven friend of mine gave me a flask of this. Be careful. It's strong stuff.”
He hands you a small flask, cleverly wrought out of metal with the Bounder coat of arms engraved on the side.
“I found him out in the Northern hills of the North Downs looking for a metal deposit that he was convinced was there. He hadn't eaten for several days and was beginning to tug his hair out in frustration. Later he said that my arrival had saved his life and he made me this flask and told me that it was rude to give someone an empty flask and so he'd filled it as well. Careful, you'll only want a sip.”
Denegar's warning was well needed, that sip makes lights flash before your eyes and makes you dizzy but when your eyes focus and your ears stop ringing, the warmth spreads throughout your body. Denegar smiles at you.
“Good isn't it.” He turns back to the stew. “Oh, but that's beginning to smell good,”
He refills his pipe and continues to work on his arrows as he smokes
“I find I like the way my life is turning out,” he says after a while. “Don't get me wrong, I miss the Shire whenever I'm away from it and I miss sitting outside the Hall at Bannockbury, smoking my pipe and watching the world roll by, but at the same time. I find that I'm enjoying my time away. I've found that the life of a bounder is a good one, even when you aren't technically inside the bounds of the shire. Helping people, looking after people, protecting them from threats whether they know there's a threat or not. I've travelled further and seen things, people and places that I never dreamed of seeing when I first picked up my bow all that time ago. I've travelled up to the misty mountains, carrying supplies up the Dwarven camps up there and I stood on the side of a mountain and looked around at the world in all of it's magnificence. I travelled up to Angmar helping the Rangers with a scouting mission, and although it was dark, oppressive and unpleasant I sat beside a woman in a place called Aughaire as she sat and sang a lullaby to her children. I travelled to Evendim and spent some time with the Rangers there amongst the monuments and buildings that pre-date the shire itself. The rangers even let me climb up the statues where I stood on top of the world and drank a cup of tea and smoked a pipe as the world turned beneath me. I've travelled to the ice-bay of Forochel where I sang and danced the ice dance with the Lossoth before running screaming into the frozen waters before being pulled out and placed next to a fire and through that cold and heat I felt re-born.”
Denegar smiles, almost to himself.
“And although I've not found a place that compares with the Shire, nor do I ever expect to. I've found that each place has it's own unique sense of beauty. This Middle earth of ours is a beautiful place. Full of wonder and beauty, savagery and fear. Light and darkness.”
He shakes his head as if startling himself from a dream.
“I'm only a little hobbit, but if I have one hope. I would hope that I have done my own small part to properly help that light to flourish in middle earth.”
Denegar reaches into another small pack bringing out a loaf of bread which he breaks in half and hollows out the two parts making a trencher, before carefully spooning out the stew into the two halves.
“Careful,” he says, passing yours over. “It'll be very hot. Rabbit stew with some wild onions, some more Sage and Garlic. I had a few potatoes as well to add some body to the stew.”
He chews for a while.
“No, I like this life. It's a good life. Bringing my own peculiar brand of Hobbitness into the world and showing the people who live there that there is a time and a place for grim faces and dark deeds, but that there is also a time for good food, good company and time to enjoy the simple life.”
After the meal Denegar clears up putting his own small world to rights.
“Well, my friend. You look done in. Can I suggest an early night for you. I'll keep watch tonight and I'll make sure that there's a nice hearty breakfast waiting for you when you wake up. Sleep well.”
Denegar makes himself a cup of tea, before re-stringing his bow (with a fresh bow-string), gathers up a few arrows and goes to sit next to the entrance. The last sound you hear is Denegar humming to himself as he sits and watches the world turn under him.
