Once we reach the other side of the Brandywine River we hop onto the grass and hesitate. I look to the dark sky as I hear quiet thunder.
"Which way?" Peregrin asks.
They look around.
"This way," young Frodo says and turns right, walking down the dim but wide road.
After traveling through the forest a ways in silence, questions burning in everyone's heads (I can tell), rain drops begin falling down at our feet, making our shoes slosh around in the mud. I pull the hood of my jacket up and cover my t-shirt, wrapping both sides together and crossing my arms.
The rest of the hobbits have cloaks in which they too bring their hoods up to cover their heads.
We pick up the pace.
"What are we going to do when we get to Bree?" Merry asks.
"Head for the inn," Frodo says. "The Prancing Pony. Gandalf is going to meet us there."
The rain gets a bit heavier so we run and luckily don't get too soaked before we make it to a small settlement.
The old wooden gates to the town are closed, almost disguised by the wooden wall that surrounds the village. Frodo steps up to the door and knocks.
The top window is opened and this man seems to be a normal size unlike these small hobbits. But once he cannot see them he closes it and opens a lower one to make a view on the Shire...lings.
"What do you want?" the old hooded man asks, his beak-like nose catching the light from his oil lamp.
"We're heading for the Prancing Pony," little Frodo answers over the sound of the rain.
He backs away after closing the small window and opens the door. He holds his lantern up high to look at us. "Hobbits... Four hobbits," he says in surprise. "What's more, out of the Shire by your talk. What business brings you to Bree?"
"We wish to stay at the inn. Our business is our own," Frodo answers.
He nods slightly. "Alright, young sir. I meant no offense." He stands aside to let us through. "It's my job to ask questions after nightfall. There's talk of strange folk abroad. Can't be too careful."
Into a small village we walk... Yup this indeed looks like the medieval era. A small poor town with people outdoors wearing hooded cloaks to cover them from the rain, making their way to different areas during the night.
Men with beards and long hair, little, to no women around at night.
The whole village is rather big for these little friends, the place being the size of its residents and I.
We pass weathered homes made of wood and stone bricks, fenced in livestock around the muddy road, and some shrubs until we get to the larger part of the village.
We find the inn with a wooden swinging sign that reads "The Prancing Pony" engraved on it.
The five of us push open the door and enter the quite merry area with men and women drinking, talking, and visiting about many things inside. I see only one other hobbit in here and he's rather old. But most are humans (at least that's what they look like). And rugged people at that. Peasants and warriors of different weight and size with dirty, mead soaked beards and worn clothes, dirt covered skin and drunken steps.
The hobbits walk up to the counter and talk to the man who runs the place, him having to lean over to see them.
I pull off my hood and some of the people do a double take, probably thinking I was a man, because of my attire and hooded hair and face. I get a few curious looks but ignore them as I look around. Now that I am here it is time I focus on my quest. I glance down at the mark on my palm and think.
YOU ARE READING
Between Two Worlds
Fanfiction"Where is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? They have passed like rain on the mountains. Like wind in the meadow. The days have gone down in the west, behind the hills, into shadow. How did it come to this?" _____________...
