Frodo’s Thoughts

Frodo meditates while walking to  Crickhollow.

*Walking. Large strides, heavy heart, dark thoughts.*

“Start walking.

I wonder where Gandalf is? I’ve never known him to be truly late before, though sometimes you would think he was.

Wild and frantic
The beating of his heart
As he clung to the horse's mane
And held on for dear life

The trees flew past
They ran swifter than eagles
An elven horse
With a hobbit on it's back

A slash of black
Amidst the colors of the trees
A stab of pain
In an ancient wound

How many days?
It seems like forever
The cold bite of steel -
No, no.

Harsh and shrieking
Their calls behind him
Almost drowned out
In the screaming of the wind

From the Shire
Three is company
Then short cut to mushrooms
Dinner at farmer Maggot’s
Song at the Barrow Downs
To the inn at Bree
Eaten at Midge Water Marshes
Then on to Weathertop
Knife in the dark
Stop at Trollshawe
Flight to the Ford
Healed at Rivendell
Council of Elrond
Then to the passage south
Over Caradhas
Down Caradhas
Through the Mines of Moria
Fight at Balin’s tomb
Over the Bridge of Khazad-Dum
Flight to Lothlorien
Caught by Elves
Greeted by Celeborn

Frodo, as dear to me as my Gaffer, grew up in the Shire, a peaceful quiet farmland. I knew him since the time that I was young; and he came to Hobbiton from Buckleberry when his mother and father died. Full of adventure and youth he was when in his younger happier years. I would clip his hedges for him when he was a bit older and more sober at fifty; therefore, bringing upon me the most life exciting, tear pouring quest of all time.