Red (The Hobbit Fan Fiction)

1. Changed

1. Changed

            Thundering hooves kicked up grass and dirt as I left my older sister in the dust. Even though we were heading farther away from Hobbiton (a village in the Shire inhabited by Hobbits in Middle-earth), I dared my sister to race me. Even though she had her apprehensions of going anywhere near the outskirts, she couldn’t turn down a challenge. Of course, she should have known from the start that Cherry, her pony, was no match for Remy, my pony. Remy, like me, was always up for a race.

            Our ponies matched our personalities fittingly: Cherry represented my sister as Remy represented me.

            Remy barreled almost into the forest, the sun beat down on our backs. We were a black blur as we flew. I’d lost Cherry’s hoof beats behind us, so I assumed my sister gave up on the race. I slowed Remy from his sprint to a very lazy jog. Eventually, he slowed himself to a walk, soon stopping under the shade of a massive tree. I leapt off him, feeling his body shake with adrenaline. He hadn’t had any competition for a while; I could tell the race was a fresh, nice change for him.

            It was a refreshing change for me, too.

            “We showed her, didn’t we, boy?” I laughed, gently patting his thick, black neck. “I think this is a good spot to rest and wait for her, don’t you think?”

            While Remy enjoyed the shade of the tree, I began to climb it. Thankfully, my outfit—trousers and a blouse—would allow me to do such a task. Most Hobbit women preferred to wear dresses. My sister fit into that category, as did my mother. However, I wasn’t a part of that group in any sense, minus the gender part of it.

            I wasn’t your stereotypical Hobbit woman of the Shire. I didn’t wear frilly dresses, nor did I fear what the world has to offer beyond the Shire’s borders. My mind has always focused on some sense of adventure. Most find that quality to be a bit unnerving.

            I perched myself on a thick, sturdy branch, gazing ahead, waiting for my sister. I swung my legs underneath me, looking out in the distance. Ah, the Shire. I was proud to say I called the place home. It was the most beautiful place to live in—of course, it would be to me since it was the only place I had ever been in.

            After what seemed like a half hour, a chestnut figure came trudging along. It was Cherry, carrying my sister on her back. My sister dismounted, dragging her exhausted pony to join Remy. She immediately looked up to the tree with green eyes. I waved to her, smiling. She just shook her head.

            Like my parents, my sister couldn’t understand me most of the time.

            “It’s about time you got here,” I joked. “I was about ready to take a nap.”

            “Funny,” my sister said sourly, her hands on her hips. “Come down, Lily, before you hurt yourself.”

            “But I won’t,” I sang. “Stop acting like we’re children, Cecelia. We’re adults now.”

            “Yes, we are, yet you don’t act like one.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Come down, now, before you do fall and hurt yourself. I don’t want to have to end up lugging you all the way back to Jack injured all because you were stupid.”

            At the mention of my husband, I held my hand to my face to stare at the gold band around my ring finger. Yes, I am married. So, how old am I? Well, I look younger than I really am. My true age is forty-five, Cecelia is ahead of me by two years, yet we both don’t look our ages. That’s the thing about Hobbits: we don’t look the age we really are most of the time.