November 11, 2005: Thinking of fallen soldiers everywhere, through the ages, and the loved ones left behind.

Remembrance Day

February 26, 1420 (S.R.)

Merry wasn't sure why he wakened. Prowling through the silent rooms of Crickhollow with only a flickering candle for light, he found nothing amiss. He found, as well, no Pippin.

It had snowed in the night, and he followed the footprints, down the lane, over the fields to the River. Merry's oath blew white on the icy dawn-lit air. What was his fool cousin thinking?

He found Pippin at last, sitting on the bank, staring at the passing water beyond the thinning ice that embraced the shore.

'Pippin!'

His cousin raised haunted eyes. 'A year ago, today.'

Together, they wept.