Chapter 62. Spring is in the air

The snows have melted all away, helped along by pounding rain that began its assault, along with punishing gusts of wind, a few days ago as my cohort of stable-dwellers were cavorting in the pasture. Why, Tall Bob's hat blew right off his head!

And so, with straggles of drenched hair streaming down his head and over his face, somehow he managed to gather us up and lead us back to the inn despite the deluge. We did not make his task easy for him, alarmed as we were at the sudden change in the weather, especially since we had already felt uneasy since before the day dawned red, as if Mistress Sun had awakened in a bad humour before the dawning and argued with her husband, the Man in the Moon, and was glowering at everyone and everything around her as she began her daily journey across the sky. 

'Up and at them!' Nob had shouted earlier that day as he pulled the stable door open. (What was supposed to be "up", as well as the identity of "them" and how the already-labouring grooms were to be at them remains a mystery to me.) 'The Sun is rubbing the red from her eyes – and she must have had one mug over the top after her work was done yesterday, for there's a prodigious amount of red to be rubbed away...'

Ham answered acidly, 'Just as there's a prodigious amount of dirty bedding to tidy away! We saved you a fork and a rake and a barrow, so have at it!' Why have you come so belated, and left us with the bulk of the work? he did not say, but we all knew he was thinking it.

Nevertheless, Nob answered the unspoken question, dropping his voice to a much lower tone that had the other grooms, hovering with their tools in hand in the openings to the stalls they were cleaning, straining to hear him. 'Bob's a bit under the weather this morning, so I had to start my day filling in for him in the Pony proper before I could break away to tend to the ponies themselves.'

'Under the weather?' Ham demanded, advancing on the hobbit, his rake seemingly forgotten in his hand. 'Has he been straining his poor, battered brains over Barliman's books? Perhaps he ought to return to the peace and quiet of the stables!'

But the youngest of the grooms interrupted his complaint. 'Peace, Ham,' said Bert. Since he has made his home with this-Bob and Pansy and Violet, I suppose the tween must have known something about the matter, though he said no more.

'Peace! That's what I said!' Ham insisted.

'Everyone is out of sorts, the Master not the least of all,' Nob soothed, tugging the heavy door closed again. 'I came out to the stables just so soon as I could break away.'

'Must be a storm brewin' somewheres,' Ham grumbled, and he turned back to his work. As if it were a signal, Bert and Pepper followed suit. For some reason, the stable workers did not sing as they went about their business that morning. I only heard their voices raised to soothe one beast or another from time to time. We were all unsettled, it seems, Hobbits and Man and beasts all together.

As I've often heard one or another of my hobbits say, Red sky in the morning, Shire-folk take warning!

When Tall Bob suggested keeping us in that day, Nob lifted his gaze to the high windows and shook his head. 'Wind's bowling the clouds along, true enough, but there's still plenty of sunshine and clear sky to be seen.'

Tall Bob seemed as if he would argue, but Nob said, 'The beasts are restless this morning! Let them dance on the meadow and kick out at cloud-shadows and work off some of their high spirits! Better than the prospect of having to repair one or more stalls, or having a pony injure itself!'

And he raised his voice so that Bert and Pepper would be sure to hear, and ordered, 'Get the morning group ready to turn out!'

Tall Bob rode upon Brownie's back to lead us to pasture, but coming home to the stables was another matter. Head down, collar pulled up – for all the good it did – he led us afoot, trudging through the overflowing streets, awash to our fetlocks in running water as if the clouds were determined to turn the streets into streams.

It was a great relief to ascend the small incline from the street to the arched entrance to the inn, stepping up out of the rushing floodwaters onto (relatively) dry ground at last. 

But as old Ham observed, only a day or two ago, 'Tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good. (Which brought to mind my hobbits and their discussion of ill winds and such – and how I wish I were there with them, where ever there might be, or they were here with me in the here-and-now! But I suppose that is neither here nor there, as things stand.) For the heavy, flooding rains washed away all the remaining snow, and then the weather turned unusually warm, and the Sun did her best to dry up all the rain, as if to make amends for her earlier ill-humour.

And now The Prancing Pony's stables are nearly empty as long as the Sun is relatively high in the sky, for almost everyone is out ploughing. Some Bree-folk have hired the ponies and horses belonging to the inn to ready the fields inside the Hedge for sowing after their Winter's sleep. Others who have been boarding their animals within the town walls come early to harness their beasts. They then lead them out through one or another of the Gates of the town to plough their fields, accompanied by guards who are with them to prevent ruffians from assailing the workers and stealing the plough-beasts. Before the Sun goes to her rest, the tired, sweaty animals return through the Gates, plodding wearily onward until they reach the inn at last, where our grooms welcome them with "supper and bath" (as our caretakers call a feedbox full of grain and a thorough grooming), followed by "bed" in a stall heaped with clean, fragrant straw.

Some of the other ponies have told me that the fresh-green blades of new grass have wakened from their sleep beneath their snowy blanket and are stretching and growing in the cool sunlight of springtide. I have not been able to see or sample the new grass myself, for "turn-outs" have halted at present "to allow the tender grass to take hold", as this-Bob explained to me on one of his visits to the stables. He also ordered Tall Bob to walk me about the streets of town each day, what he calls my "morning constitutional" since I am nowadays a "paid boarder" but not a working beast (Just how much was in that pouch the Ranger tossed to the innkeeper, I wonder?), and it is not healthy to confine one of my kind to a stall for days on end, not even if that stall is a loose box. And so I have seen much of the town and town life these past few days as my Mannish groom and I gad about town. 

We have become well-acquainted with quite a few of the children living in Bree, as well. They're coming! Bill and his helper are coming! Shouts of excitement arise when one of them sees us coming – which invariably broadens Tall Bob's grin and sometimes makes him laugh in delight. 

Perhaps it amuses him that the children have named him "Bill's helper"!

I am not sure how it is arranged, but one or another of the children always has a treat ready for me, though on our ramblings in recent days, I have overheard talk suggesting that the townsfolk are worried about food supplies running low, should the distant-but-coming harvest suffer the depredations of robbers and ruffians. I suppose that, given the nature of children, every one of them would like to have a carrot or piece of apple or sweet or palmful of sultanas to offer – truth be told, I would quite like such a state of affairs, myself! But whether they are taking turns sharing from their own plates or have wheedled the adults to provide "a little something" for their four-footed friend, they have somehow worked out a system of sorts. 

For today, the third day of our morning constitutionals (And who knows how long they will continue? Not even this-Bob has said anything to that effect), I hear one of the taller boys insist, raising his voice above those of the others, 'No, it's Bluebell's turn! And tomorrow, 'twill be Violet's!'

Ignoring Tall Bob's gentle tug on my rope, I stop and raise my head to survey the rapidly growing crowd of young ones. And there, in the midst of them! – I see my own flower-butterfly, jumping up and down in her excitement at seeing me once more, and it is not even this-Bob's usual day to visit the stables with her.

I whinny my joy, and I tug at my rope in my turn, leading Tall Bob at a trot to greet all my young friends. But, and especially, my own. My Letty.

***