Whisked Away

~IX~Clayton

11-year-old Clayton surveyed the scene in front of him, his pony pacing up and down. They were about to enter the mountains: a pivotal boundary that led to regions different than the Middle Earth he knew.

Gandalf came up behind him, his horse proudly stepping forward.

"Is this the place?" Gandalf asked, surveying the wooded scene around them.

Clayton shook his head. "I still feel a pull." He said, putting a hand on the dragon egg contained in his saddlebag.

Clayton had found the egg in the walls of the family house and, thinking it was a piece of really cool rock, had shown it to the whole family. Later, though, Clayton had felt the rock move, and eventually even begin to pull. On the 7th day after finding it exactly, the egg had pulled Clayton to a bookstore. Once inside the bookstore it had led him to a book containing only one page. He had looked at the price and shrugged. It was only 50 cents, hardly anything, so he had gotten it to satisfy his curiosity.

He had taken it and the rock into the playhouse in his backyard. He was very curious, but puzzled, when he read,

"On the shores of Arizona black and white meet; the Middle."

A map was included on the back of the page, showing a lake in Arizona. He was very puzzled, but the egg jumped in his pocket, dislodging his wallet. Still curious, Clayton checked his wallet, and he realized he had enough money to make the trip. But barely.

He had packed his things and caught an Uber to the airport.

Some of the questions that had gone through his head on the plane still disturbed his thoughts now.

He was following a mysterious and supposedly magic rock to Arizona, to the "Middle". What in the world could that mean? Of course, now he knew what it really meant, but he had only read some of the Lord of the Rings, and thus was scantily prepared, only falling upon Gandalf and Bilbo by chance. His sister, Lillian, now she had read all of the books. Maybe he should have brought her along. . .

He had considered going back and getting her before getting on the plane, but realized he didn't have enough money. He had straightened his shoulders, realizing he would have to make do with what he had.

When he had finally arrived at the lake, he discovered what the poem had meant: half the beach was black sand, the other was whiter. Cautiously, he had been about to step across the line when he had felt the rock shake, and a roar sound behind him. Fright caught him, and he had dashed across the line, into the other world.

Clayton had been caught off guard by what he stumbled into. There were round porthole doors of wood dotting the hilly countryside, and he stood in the middle of a country lane with the sun starting its stately march down to the western horizon. This may have been puzzling enough, but what really swept him off his feet was the great party that was going on. Clayton stood gaping, spinning around, and trying to take in what he was seeing.

There were drinking stands, snack stands, shack stands, and of course, when he had been looking enough to even recognize what they were from his scant memories, lots of, well, hobbits - all dancing, talking, eating, sleeping, and weeping. He walked around exploring, more and more in awe of what he was seeing, and getting excited. He was only slightly taller than the hobbits, so he was able to do most of the things there, for everyone, it seemed, had a tab, so everyone there expected you to have one, even if you didn't. If you came up to do something, they wouldn't charge you right then and there; they would simply put it on your tab. Clayton ate with hobbits,(though refraining from their beer) and he danced with hobbits while hobbit musicians played their old country music at the same time as blowing their beloved smoke rings.