Chapter 38. It is an ill wind, or so they say

The world is still in darkness when I come to complete wakefulness, having slept myself out. For as I may have mentioned, ponies, like horses, have no need to sleep the night through. Indeed, I had no idea that two-legged creatures were any different from us until the journey with my Companions began. While I am still unsure of the sleep requirements of Men – for I have only travelled with two of them thus far, sharing their company day and night – or Dwarves or Elves, for that matter, it became clear to me over time that Hobbits need rather more sleep than a pony; at least, if my hobbits are anything to go by.

When we first set out from Bree, they did not set a watch at all; nor did Our Big Man suggest that they do such a thing. He and I watched over our hobbits together through the long night, and if he slept, well then, he did not give away the fact by snoring. Perhaps he did not sleep at all... I do not know for certain. I often raised my head from grazing in the wee hours of the night, to see him leaning against a tree, cold pipe in his mouth, eyes sharp and aware.

Later, when our larger Company set out from Rivendell, everyone took his turn at watch, even my Hobbits; and everyone took his turn at sleeping, even Our Big Man. Thus I discovered that he did sleep on occasion. At least, he would lie down and close his eyes. I suppose he might have stayed wakeful through the night, even so, and only pretended to sleep. I know so little of Men.

My current companion is already fully alert when I awaken, but he rests his head on my neck and whispers. Hush. Let us remain quite still until the Sun returns to light the sky.

The wolves? I barely murmur.

In answer, he nods, pressing briefly harder on the back of my neck.

I shiver; but I allow my head to droop until my muzzle brushes the mix of mud and pine needles and snow comprising our bedding, and breathe as lightly as possible.

I do not doze again, and so I hear the nightly noises the great horse has been heeding during the time he let me sleep. Howls, sometimes far and sometimes uncomfortably near, blend with the sound of the wind in the treetops above us. Thus, my rest is hardly restful from that point onward, and I welcome the first lightening in the Eastern sky that heralds the return of the Sun and the light she brings with her.

When at last the darkness withdraws somewhat – for the day remains grey and dolorous under heavy clouds – my companion lifts his head from my neck.

Because he says nothing, but maintains silence, I wait to see what he will do next. From the sound of his breathing, no longer close to my ears, he has lifted his head high to survey our surroundings. Pressed against his side, I feel his near flank expand as he draws in a deep breath, holds it for a moment as if examining any smells that may linger in the air, and then expels it slowly and silently.

And still I wait. At last, he seems to make up his mind and rises to his feet. But then he puts his head down, nose touching my nose. Quietly, my friend, he says.

I nod and push myself up to stand on my feet, unsurprisingly cold, as well as stiff, and even a little sore.

My companion swings his head towards me and lowers his nose to mine in silent query. I nod again, and we step off together without speaking, walking with exaggerated care and watching the ground ahead to avoid stepping upon a stick and breaking it with a loud crack! My companion even shortens his stride to match my pace.

Before long, we have left the trees behind and can walk at a somewhat faster pace. As an added benefit, walking is warming.

When a chorus of howls breaks out rather nearer than farther away, the great horse freezes. Instinctively, I do the same. The howls are upwind, I deem, and so the wind is carrying our scent away from the hunting pack. When we are standing still, my companion by his colouring blends with the sullen sky and wintry landscape, whilst I might resemble a bush or winter shrub, thin as I am, with my shaggy coat resembling dead leaves hanging from the branches. Hardly worth their notice, I should think.

Unnervingly, the howls approach, but I have learnt wisdom in my travels, and so I stand fast at my companion's side without even a twitch of my ears, much less a swish of my tail or stomp of a foot.

To my relief, the howls recede again, and I realise they are behind us now, and moving farther to the South as they go. I remember the rogue Men we have left behind. Perhaps they will keep the wolves busy. Or the wolves will keep them well occupied.

In any event, 'tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good, I think to myself, though I have enough sense not to voice the thought.

Yet another riddle that my hobbits have taught me! At least, it seemed like a riddle to me – and about as unsolvable as most of my hobbits' riddles.

Until one day when Master said it, and Youngest broke out with, What does that old saw mean, Frodo? I hear people say it all the time, but I've never been able to make sense of it!

My Sam has a way of explaining that makes things clear to a pony as well as a questioning tween. I long found it confusing myself, Mr. Pippin, until the day Mr. Bilbo explained it to me.

What's that, Sam?

'When that recent windstorm blew down so many branches in the Old Orchard' – or so Mr. Bilbo said – 'it was an "ill wind" in that those branches will never bear fruit again! ...but chopped up, my good Samwise, apple-wood and cherry-wood, as well as pear-wood and plum-wood, will burn with a sweet-smelling smoke. But I would never have allowed Hamfast to cut away those branches of a purpose!'

I'm not quite sure I understand...

Why you see, Mr. Pippin, you'll pay a pretty price for cherry- or apple-wood at the market, any day o' the year. But Mr. Bilbo let us have those branches for no money at all, just for chopping them up and hauling them away!

Youngest was silent for a few moments, and then he said slowly, as if he might be thinking a new thought he'd never had before, So the wind was an ill one for old Bilbo, eh? ...because he lost the apples and pears and cherries – and plums! – they'd have borne in future years... But for your family, it turned out to be a blessing because you reaped the wind's harvest...?

My Sam laughed then, such a merry sound! I find myself stopping to savour the memory of it. And then I go on in my remembering, for my hobbit had more to say on the subject. Not only that, Mr. Pippin, but we had so much less work in the months that followed, in terms of pruning! For the wind had done much of the work for us, and all we had to do was clean up after it!

As I recall, Youngest slapped my Sam on the back and joined him in laughing, such a lovely, light moment that it stays in my mind while some of the darker moments grow blessedly dim. I'd call that an added benefit, for certain, Sam!

Perhaps the wolves will clean up after us, driving the Men in the other direction, or the rogue Men will take care of the wolves so that they trouble us no further. Regardless, though we keep our heads high and swivel our ears in all directions as we continue to walk, some of the tension goes out of us.

As an added benefit, walking is much less tiring when the threat of imminent attack seems to have waned. At least for the moment. 

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