The IRE of Winter

[ 1.2 ]

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Father smiled while munching his carrots. Sometimes I wish to tell him all my adventures while we're having supper together, when the candles burn low and the night fall calm and quiet. One little secret that I have been hiding for many years now.

I have traveled as far as the outskirts of Buckland lately, as far as my raven eyes could see, as long as my wings could carry me. Father knows nothing about my little mischief. Indeed, I am a raven at times, sometimes a stray cat, oftentimes a sparrow flying over the bountiful farms of Staddle and tamed fields of Combe.

I tweeted at the funny sights of hobbits busy plowing their fields, growing lilies and silver bells in their little hedges. I remember when I visited old Mr. Maggot and his farm and wished I was there to ask him for mushrooms.

Hobbits were very fond of mushrooms and the Mr. Maggot and his sons fancied it deeply that they would dare the Old Forest to get them. Once, I have visited The Green Dragon in the summer night. Hobbits are funny little folks, I mused.

Not long ago, I ruined some of Mr. Faramir Took's flower pots and many times I sneaked inside Mr. Bradyfoot's house, spying on the hobbit like a burglar.

I maybe one of a kind, my gift earned me both freedom and pride. Stories about beings who could steal the mind of others long ago, stories about people turning into ravens and hawks and cats, (blimey! If vaurg would want to be a pig) --- have indeed gotten fame of all Marish.

But for Vala's sake, I never wanted to be a hog, that would be extremely humiliating. Not to mention the stench.

I sighed.

I was ten when I first discovered my gift, that beings like me can tame beast of the wildest kind and can even steal their mind if I try enough, see through else's eyes; a thief creeping into their very soul.

The Bree-land is filled with many queer people; there were Rangers from the east, and there were many comings and goings of queer strangers from all sides.

Vaurg, the old folks call it. But most call us skinchangers, those who doesn't know the difference between a duck and a goose, obviously I am no beast.

Skinchangers are beings who could turn themselves into savage and unpredictable giant bear at will, some say they were gone long time ago, I don't want to believe them.

I tilted my head and gave Father a long quiet stare, he deliberately ignored me.

'Father, I must say you badly need a barber. When was the last time you glanced at a looking-glass? Your locks' so heavy,' I released a giggle.

'Do I?' Father chuckled as he wipes the grease off the side of his lips. I nodded like a little child convinced.

'Thick and long! Mr. Gamworth's an excellent hair-cutter. I say you should pay him a visit.' Then I resumed dicing my carrots.

'I just had a haircut five months ago,' he shrugged, adding a little amusement in his tone.

'That was five months! One more month and anyone would think you have serious fear of scissors.'

'Just five months,' he chortled, shifting left on his chair. 'Not that I fear my hair being cut, I don't trust the old hobbit for decent hair-cutting!'

'And a new vest too, perhaps a wife if you still have the time.' I always tease him on getting a wife, a nice and simple lady who knows how to cook and clean, someone like my late mother. But father sealed his heart the day mother died and he never reconsidered marrying again.

Having a stepmother would be very tough, I guess, I heard stepmothers are not so...nice on their stepchildren, especially to a girl so stubborn like me.

Father chortled, nearly choking and I laughed so hard leaning back to my chair.

Our joyous outburst was put into a halt when a loud knock  came at the door, father stood lazily to see the late comer. I watched him walk slowly to the door as I resumed eating, chewing one piece at a time. Who would come pay us a visit at this hour? Not grandma, or Mr. Finn who collects inexplicably high taxes every month, not the hobbits.

No. Hobbits don't leave their houses at night, not that I know of. Those little people are so afraid to leave the comforts of their homes and the safety of their wooden fences, as if they were tall enough to keep unwanted guests.

The door creaked.

'Can I help you with something, brothers?' I overheard father greeted the strangers. He calls everyone he doesn't know a "brother" or "sister", "mister" for old folks, one of the many things I adore about my him. 'Come, if you are hungry.'

'We're not very hungry but we would like to come,' said a hoarse voice. 'If it pleases you, and I hope it will, I have company.'

I stood upon seeing the strangers entering our humble home, an old man in plain white robes, his long hair hung in disarray, long beard touching down to the middle of his chest, and tall pointy hat just as white as his locks.

He held a jeweled wooden staff on his right, his eyes were as blue as the summer sky , he was old but his every move was filled with grace and strength. Our eyes met and I flinched, turning my eyes away from his, I pretended I didn't see his gaze.

From that moment, I knew something wasn't right.

Continue to part 3...

Trivia #2
The Hobbit Book: The unexpected gathering in Bilbo's house happened on a Wednesday. Gandalf left a mark on Bilbo's green door (newly painted) and is usually read as "Burglar wants a good job, plenty of excitement and reasonable reward." And by the way, Faramir Took is the son of Peregrin Took and Diamond of Long Cleeve. He was born S.R 1430, roughly 9 years after the last day of the third age or 11 years after the War of the Ring. (That's my estimate!)

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