Oliphants and String

“Leave the frog alone, my precious, else you hurt it and it cannot return to its home.”

“I want it. I found it and it’s mine,” the sweet tone that had once been his now resonated with disdain. “ ‘Sides, it’s an oliphant and I’m tamin’ it.”

“Where is your cousin?” she changed the subject.

“ ‘Dunno,” he whined. “Can’t always watch ‘im.”

“You went to the river with him, didn’t you? Isn’t that where you found the frog?”

“ ‘Dunno. And it’s an oliphant. I tied it up tight with this here string and now it can’t get away. It’s mine, it is,” he whined even more miserably.

“Where is Deagol?” she asked, her tone now harsh.

He turned towards her, eyes flashing with hate. “I don’t know!” he screamed.

A moment later, they came into her smial and brought the body before her. She saw the handprints on the boy’s throat. Shivering, she called his name, but he had disappeared. She wondered where he had gone to, but grief swept all other thought from her.

For weeks after that, unease swept through her village. She was its head, its guardian, and she knew the cause. At last, she confronted him.

He denied the murder, the thefts, the eavesdropping, the tortures… everything and so she ordered him banished.

Watching as he bundled a few rocks, shells from the river, string and various dead bugs into his bedroll, she held back her tears. The frog had long since died else she knew he would have taken that too. She offered food – he spat at her. She closed her eyes. Once she had such dreams for him. She would not watch him walk away. But others did and shouted obscenities at him.

Forgotten forever was the sound of his sweet voice.