Edit History

“Dindy was quiet for a Brandybuck. Very shy…. He came home a few years ago with gifts for the children and a black shield on his back. I spotted him from my boat; otherwise, I wouldn't have believed it, for before anyone else saw him, he'd slipped behind Bilbo’s door - a traveling hobbit himself, with his pack and a bottle of wine. There they spoke all night, and in the morning, they sat together by the river, looking East. He made no fuss when he returned to us in Buckland. He only wanted to sleep.” Cecil recounted, looking toward the point of Lachiel’s spear.

“He screamed - in his sleep. I have never heard such a scream. Not a Brandybuck spoke of it when he woke or when he left, nor hence..."

"His gifts were thrown into the river."

He sat in silence.

“I do not understand. How could such useless hate endure in this world? If goblins are as you say, then I am not prepared to meet them.” 

Lachiel’s words further pressed against him. He felt the tug of regret and bewilderment, like a plant torn from its roots. He reached back to conversation from a lighter time, not that long ago.

“Loth…lorien…. Lothlorien.” He whispered again under his breath and looked to Lachiel. “How far South is Lothlorien? Could you travel there by river? I’ve heard stories of the Elves where they live, that they can spin the venom of a spider into silk. Is that true?” 

“Dindy was quiet for a Brandybuck. Very shy…. He came home a few years ago with gifts for the children and a black shield on his back. I spotted him from my boat; otherwise, I wouldn't have believed it, for before anyone else saw him, he'd slipped behind Bilbo’s door - a traveling hobbit himself, with his pack and a bottle of wine. There they spoke all night, and in the morning, they sat together by the river, looking East. He made no fuss when he returned to us in Buckland. He only wanted to sleep.” Cecil recounted, looking toward the point of Lachiel’s spear.

“He screamed - in his sleep. I have never heard such a scream. Not a Brandybuck spoke of it when he woke or when he left, nor hence..."

"His gifts were tossed into the river."

He sat in silence.

“I do not understand. How could such useless hate endure in this world? If goblins are as you say, then I am not prepared to meet them.” 

Lachiel’s words further pressed against him. He felt the tug of regret and bewilderment, like a plant torn from its roots. He reached back to conversation from a lighter time, not that long ago.

“Loth…lorien…. Lothlorien.” He whispered again under his breath and looked to Lachiel. “How far South is Lothlorien? Could you travel there by river? I’ve heard stories of the Elves where they live, that they can spin the venom of a spider into silk. Is that true?” 

“Dindy was quiet for a Brandybuck. Very shy…. He came home a few years ago with gifts for the children and a black shield on his back. I spotted him from my boat; otherwise, I wouldn't have believed it, for before anyone else saw him, he'd slipped behind Bilbo’s door - a traveling hobbit himself, with his pack and a bottle of wine. There they spoke all night, and in the morning, they sat together by the river, looking East. He made no fuss when he returned to Buckland. He only wanted to sleep.” Cecil recounted, looking toward the point of Lachiel’s spear.

“He screamed - in his sleep. I have never heard such a scream. Not a Brandybuck spoke of it when he woke or when he left, nor hence..."

"His gifts were tossed into the river."

He sat in silence.

“I do not understand. How could such useless hate endure in this world? If goblins are as you say, then I am not prepared to meet them.” 

Lachiel’s words further pressed against him. He felt the tug of regret and bewilderment, like a plant torn from its roots. He reached back to conversation from a lighter time, not that long ago.

“Loth…lorien…. Lothlorien.” He whispered again under his breath and looked to Lachiel. “How far South is Lothlorien? Could you travel there by river? I’ve heard stories of the Elves where they live, that they can spin the venom of a spider into silk. Is that true?” 

“Dindy was quiet for a Brandybuck. Very shy…. He came home a few years ago with gifts for the children and a black shield on his back. I spotted him from my boat; otherwise, I wouldn't have believed it, for before anyone else saw him, he'd slipped behind Bilbo’s door with his pack and a bottle of wine. There they spoke all night, and in the morning, they sat together by the river, looking East. He made no fuss when he returned to Buckland. He only wanted to sleep.” Cecil recounted, looking toward the point of Lachiel’s spear.

“He screamed - in his sleep. I have never heard such a scream. Not a Brandybuck spoke of it when he woke or when he left, nor hence..."

"His gifts were tossed into the river."

He sat in silence.

“I do not understand. How could such useless hate endure in this world? If goblins are as you say, then I am not prepared to meet them.” 

Lachiel’s words further pressed against him. He felt the tug of regret and bewilderment, like a plant torn from its roots. He reached back to conversation from a lighter time, not that long ago.

“Loth…lorien…. Lothlorien.” He whispered again under his breath and looked to Lachiel. “How far South is Lothlorien? Could you travel there by river? I’ve heard stories of the Elves where they live, that they can spin the venom of a spider into silk. Is that true?”