Chapter 5. I follow the dry riverbed in hopes of water; a fool's hope, perhaps?

~ S.R. 1419, 14 January, evening ~

The Sun hangs low on the horizon now, dazzling my eyes. It might make sense to turn aside, to set a new direction. My heart tells me that my "off" shoulder is pointing towards where the marvellous Valley lies, as sure as my "near" shoulder points to the empty streambed beside me. It might make sense to leave this broken road, running alongside the stream that remains a stream in name only, for though the channel that was so deep and narrow where I began to follow it has broadened somewhat, the occasional scent of water that wafts on the breeze is cruelly teasing, and the streambed remains disappointingly dry. Thirst is a torment, and I am stumbling, and not only because the path continues much broken and decayed. A darkness is before my eyes despite the Sun's glare.

Although my heart would lead me true, I do not know if my body has the strength to follow. And I know already that there is no water to be found in the broken lands that lie between me and where we began to climb the Cruel mountain. Following an empty streambed may be a fool's hope, a phrase I have heard my hobbits employ, for example when Youngest has speculated that there might be some late berries on the bushes we pass as we travelled ever farther southwards, but it seems to be the only hope I have.

I find myself pondering the idea of a fool's hope. Tall Hat is fond of scolding Youngest in terms of you fool of a Took! So is a fool's hope referring to the youngest hobbit when he is hoping for something? I can see him even now in my mind's eye, rubbing his hands together and talking about a real good meal tonight: something hot!

But then I remember Master chiding himself quietly and calling himself a fool when the others were asleep. He was sick and weak, and yet trying to ease himself out from under the blankets to see to some private business without rousing my Sam or his younger cousins from their rest. 

How could I have been so foolish as to put It on! he'd hissed under his breath, so softly, I almost could not make out the words.

But somehow the Big Man, sitting with his back against a tree with his broken sword in his hand and his cold pipe in his mouth, must have heard the words. For he put sword and pipe away and rose to his feet. Then he walked over to the huddle of hobbits and wordlessly took Master by the arm, half-helping and half-lifting the hobbit with one hand and smoothing the blankets with the other to keep the night's chill from the other hobbits, wakening them.

Once Master was free of the blankets, the Big Man lifted him in his arms, whispering, Save your strength! And he carried the Master a little away, to where they were partly hidden behind a fallen tree. Then the Man bent down and set Master on his feet, but he remained bent over the Master, steadying the hobbit, perhaps...

The twain exchanged no words as they tarried there, except for Master's quiet, I thank you, after which the Big Man picked him up again and carried him back to the blankets. Master eased himself into the midst of the hobbits snuggled together there, while the Big Man once more made sure no fingers of wind would creep under the blankets. And then he went back to the sentinel tree, sat down, and drew out his sword and his cold pipe once more.

Try as I might, I can find no foolishness in their actions as I remember them. It seems to me as if both did what must be done, and they managed not to waken the others from their exhausted slumber, into the bargain.

But this is neither here nor there, as one of my hobbits might say. As I have continued to stumble along, almost blindly, deep in my memories, the Sun has kissed the horizon and is now slipping ever lower. She will soon be out of sight.

And now the breeze brings with it more than the false promise of water. I jerk, and I toss my drooping head high at the sound of wolves – wolves on the hunt, and coming closer!

And I am already weary, I seem to hear Tall Hat sigh. I look about me, but the wizard is nowhere to be seen.

Whether or not Tall Hat is already weary, for my own part, my limbs tremble with weakness, and my head seems to swim.

At the thought of swimming, I turn away from the deep cleft where a stream once ran and leave the road, though it takes me towards the fearful howls rather than away. For away would have me falling into the channel, perhaps injuring myself, even to the point of breaking a leg! And, I deem, the channel would pose no barrier to the wolves. Somehow, in my mind's eye, as if I am looking up from the bottom of the channel even now, I can see their heads poke over the edge; they hesitate, and then they flow over the edge, a waterfall of fur and slashing teeth, rising up until I drown in my blood...

And suddenly I realise, it is the Voices warning me! I must put space between myself and the dry streambed, lest the attacking wolves drive me backwards to my doom!

Yet without the Fair One and his arrows, and the two Big Men and my hobbits with their swords, and the Dwarf and his axe, and Tall Hat and his fire (though I am not sure what he would burn in this rocky, desolate landscape), how am I to resist the hunting pack's murderous onslaught?

You fought well on the hilltop, the Voices whisper deep within. They were not with me then, but perhaps Tall Hat told them. You were brave and fierce and clever! Let your fear drive you to fiercer effort, but hold fast to wisdom! Do not lose your head! Help is on its way, even now, and will soon be at hand...

Is that why the Voices said naught as I followed the Sun across the sky to her rest? Was I, all unknowing, travelling in the right direction after all?

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Author's notes:

Instead of "left" or "right", which are human constructs, a pony might conceivably think in terms of "near" (the pony's left side, where a rider would mount and dismount) and "off" (the pony's right side). Interestingly, the term "near side" is used in the UK to refer to the left side of the road, or the side of a vehicle that is closest to the kerb/curb or edge of the road when driving, while the "off side" is the right side.

A few turns of phrase in this chapter were drawn from The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.

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