Daisy Lightfoot is a young hobbit from the Shire who feels there is more to life than living quietly in the Hobbiton. She goes with her best friend Frodo Baggins on the adventure of a lifetime to destroy the ring of power created by the evil Sauron...
Frodo, Sam, and I began our trek to Bree to meet Gandalf at the Prancing Pony. This was the furthest we had ever been from home, and though we tried to hide it, we were nervous. The road ahead was uncertain, and none of us truly knew what lay beyond the borders of the Shire.
We trudged through the thick edges of the woods, eventually finding ourselves walking through a tall, leafy cornfield—one that belonged to none other than Farmer Maggot. We had to be careful. He had the worst temper in all the Shire and was notorious for chasing off trespassers with his dogs.
Frodo and I walked side by side, hand in hand. The warmth of his fingers wrapped around mine filled me with a quiet excitement that no amount of looming danger could erase.
"This is the furthest I've ever been from home," Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"We're still in the Shire," Frodo replied gently, trying to ease his nerves. "What could possibly happen—?"
Before he could finish, a blur of motion tackled both Frodo and Sam to the ground—and because I was holding Frodo's hand, I was pulled down with them. I landed with a thud and groaned, brushing dirt and bits of stalks from my dress.
"It's Frodo Baggins!" Pippin exclaimed with delight.
"Hello, Frodo!" Merry grinned, waving from atop a heap of vegetables.
"What are you two doing here?" I asked as I stood up, still picking leaves out of my hair.
"Hello, Daisy!" Pippin beamed, proudly holding up an armful of fresh crops.
"You stole from Farmer Maggot's garden?" Sam asked, already exasperated.
"He won't miss these," Merry said cheerfully, revealing his own stash of potatoes and carrots.
Just then, a familiar shout made us all freeze.
"Hey! Get out of there, you rascals!"
It was Farmer Maggot.
"Run!" I yelled in alarm.
We scattered, bolting down the path as fast as our hobbit legs could carry us. But in the chaos, Sam tripped, knocking us all over like dominoes. We tumbled down a steep hill and landed hard—Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin on the path, and me in a bush. Twigs scratched my arms, and I emerged with leaves tangled in my curls.
"I think I broke something," Merry groaned.
He reached beneath him and pulled out... a crushed carrot.
Then came the screech.
It echoed in the trees, a piercing, unnatural sound that sent shivers down my spine.
"Get off the road!" Frodo shouted.
We didn't hesitate. We scrambled to a hollow log just off the path, small enough for us to hide inside. The air was thick with silence except for the steady, ominous clip-clop of hooves.
I clung to Frodo's hand, and he held mine tightly in return. Even in fear, I found comfort in his touch—but my heart refused to calm. I could feel it pounding in my chest.
Then I noticed something strange.
Frodo's expression shifted—his eyes grew glassy, distant, as if something were calling to him. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the Ring. My breath caught in my throat.
He was going to put it on.
Another screech ripped through the air—and the spell broke.
"What was that all about?" Merry asked, shaken.
Frodo didn't hesitate. He quickly explained the danger of the Ring Wraiths, and our pace quickened as we fled deeper into the woods. We ducked through a thick hedge maze, hoping to lose our pursuers.
But just when we thought we were safe, one of the Black Riders emerged.
Its monstrous black horse glared at us with glowing red eyes, snorting furiously. The creature on its back was cloaked and faceless, its very presence a nightmare. The Rider let out another scream and charged at us.
I screamed and turned, running with the others. I didn't look back. I couldn't.
It was like running through a nightmare that refused to end.
⸻
By some miracle, we made it to the gates of Bree.
Rain poured from the sky, soaking through our clothes and chilling us to the bone. Frodo and I stood at the head of the group, still holding hands, and he knocked on the heavy wooden gate.
A voice called from above.
"Who goes there?"
A surly-looking man peered down at us. "Hobbits? Lots of them? What's your business in Bree?"
Frodo stood tall, his grip on my hand unwavering. "We wish to stay at the Prancing Pony. Our business is our own."
The man raised a brow but didn't argue. With a creak and groan, he pulled open the gate and let us inside.
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