Chapter 15. Of Comfrey and Comfort

The shapes of the surrounding trees faded into shadow as the light dimmed, and soon Twig could not see her hand before her face, and Ferdi was gone somewhere, and what would she do if he did not return – for there was always the possibility of his capture by ruffians. He’d drilled into her the thought that if they should be accosted by ruffians, he’d create some sort of diversion, and she should run – run as far as she might, and not look back, no matter what she might hear behind her. She was to run, and find a hiding place, and hide until all was quiet, and then it would be up to her to rescue herself – to keep travelling to the West, until she reached the free Tookland.

She understood some of his reasoning; his purpose, after all, was to get her to safety. On the other hand, should he be caught with her in his possession, and the ruffians were able to positively identify her, the consequences for Ferdi would be all the worse. Or so Rosemary had told her, in discussing the scheme early on, before Ferdi had even made his appearance at the woodcarver’s little cottage. She must run and successfully hide, not just in her own defence, but to protect Ferdi.

With that thought, she tried to rise, to find a better hiding place, less exposed to a lantern-bearing traveller. Sharp pain flared in her foot, and she sank down again, fighting the impulse to be sick. She was not quite desperate enough to force herself to move in the face of pain. Perhaps if she heard the voices of Men nearby… and perhaps she’d still be unable to move far enough. She resolved within herself, that if by ill luck ruffians should come upon her now, she’d say nothing about how she’d come to be here. No, she thought, she must make up a convincing tale, of cutting her hair and stealing some boy’s clothes from a clothesline, and running away from home on her own idea, and no one else’s suggestion or aid.

So busy laying her plans was she, that she did not hear Ferdi’s approach until he spoke near at hand. She jumped, and his hand touched her arm in reassurance as he apologised.

‘Sorry, my lad,’ he said. ‘Tis only myself.’

‘Ah, Uncle,’ she answered. ‘I thought it might be a fox, at the least, but as it’s only yourself, I’ll take no alarm.’

She could almost feel the warmth of his smile in the darkness, Fox that he was, to hobbits and ruffians alike, and a smile was in his voice as he said, ‘I have found us a place where we can shelter, and more important, some leaves that will give you relief, hopefully enough that we may move from here to that shelter without too much difficulty…’

His hands went unerringly to the calf of her injured leg, as if he could see in the darkness (and maybe he could, Twig thought to herself, for he’d certainly led them through the darkness with only his ears, toes, and walking stick for a guide). She shivered as his hands slid down her calf to her ankle and foot. He whistled low. ‘Swelled up a bit while I was gone.’ She was certain from his tone that the swelling was more than ‘a bit’ but as it was dark, and she hadn’t wanted to touch the area and cause more pain, she had no idea… On second thought, the skin felt tight. She could almost imagine the swelling, now.

And then something cool against her skin, and she gasped involuntarily again at the suddenness, and he apologised under his breath.

‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I was just startled, that’s all, and really…’ She took a deep breath, and another, and added, ‘I do think it’s beginning to help. Already!’

‘Comfrey,’ he said. ‘Grows here in the Wood, one just needs to know what to look for, and where. Bruise the leaves, apply them, and in an hour you won’t believe the difference…’

‘An hour,’ she murmured, thinking of wandering ruffians.

‘We’ll hear them before they see us,’ Ferdi said quietly. ‘If that’s the case, I can bear you up in my arms, at least away from their direction of travel, enough that they don’t stumble over us.’ As if he could read her mood he added, in a pompous voice, ‘I cannot carry you to the ends of the Earth, of course!’

Laughter bubbled up in her, as he’d intended. Nervous laughter it might be, but he chuckled to hear her giggle, and though his hands never ceased their work on her injured foot and ankle, he said, ‘That’s better.’

He added, ‘In an hour, the Moon will be high enough in the sky to lend his light to our endeavours. It makes it easier for a passing ruffian to see us, perhaps, but I doubt their eyes are as sharp as a hobbit’s, at least in the dark Wood. We’ll be cautious in our going, and they won’t be, most likely.’

‘Full moon tonight?’ Twig said, remembering something he’d said earlier.

‘Yes, and clear sky,’ he said. ‘Just enough light to do us good. If it were an August moon, it might be light enough to read by.’

‘Folk in the back of the Wood don’t read,’ Twig said with a sniff. ‘Too much bother to learn, and what is the use of it, I ask you? Waste of good wood, to grind it up for paper, anyhow, or so my pap always said.’

‘Paper twists make for good fire-starting,’ Ferdi countered. He’d plastered wet leaves of comfrey over her entire foot and ankle, and was now winding a long cloth – one of the food wrapping cloths? – over all.

‘Only a careless fellow would let his fire go out,’ Twig said in a righteous tone, nose high in the air. ‘And who needs something as fancy as paper -- useless stuff that it is – when there’s moss, and shredded bark?’

‘You have me there,’ Ferdi said. ‘Far be it from me to ask you to put on airs…’

Twig hmphed in satisfaction at having bested him in the argument, just as if she were a hobbit from back in the Back of the Woods, arguing with one less wood-wise. Paper, after all, would be hard to come by, but there was plenty of fire-starting material to be found for those who knew where to find it. And of course, any hobbit worth his salt would carry flint and steel to start a fire with.

‘Not that you even need an old fire,’ Twig said, to continue the thought. ‘Oft-times we just eat the meat without cooking, anyhow. It’s fresher that way, somehow.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Ferdi said, and from the fumbling she felt at her ankle, he was tying the end of the cloth in some kind of knot to keep the whole affair in place. ‘There,’ he said, sitting back. ‘How does that feel?’

‘Better,’ she said in surprise. ‘No, honestly, it does feel better! I think the swelling might even be subsiding, for the skin doesn’t feel so tight, and,’ she gave an experimental twitch, and winced, ‘it only hurts when I move it now, but not when I keep it quite still.’

‘Then keep it quite still,’ Ferdi said, ‘or at least as still as may be.’

‘How might that be?’ Twig asked acidly. ‘We cannot stay here.’

‘But we can,’ Ferdi said, ‘and I deem it prudent that we must, at least until the Moon is high enough that I don’t fall over my own feet on our way down this blasted hillside…’

‘I brought us quite a way down this blasted hillside by myself, thank you very much – or perhaps I ought to say no thanks to you!’ Twig said, matching him vulgarism for vulgarism, as a boy of her upbringing ought.

‘That you did, my lad, that you did,’ Ferdi agreed. ‘However, I think we shall go the rest of the way my way, if you don’t mind…’

‘I’ll take it under consideration,’ Twig said, lifting her chin again.

‘I thank you, Nephew,’ Ferdi said formally, and then he moved to sit down beside her, huddling quite close (though not remarking aloud on her shivering), and drawing his cloak over the two of them.

The two settled to a watchful silence, listening to the sounds in the night. They’d have enough warning of approaching Men to get out of the ruffians’ path, the way Men have of blundering along, but Twig certainly hoped they wouldn’t have to do so.