Chapter 81. I ponder the incomprehensible 

Something is very... different. I nearly said "wrong" just now, except that on further thought, there doesn't seem to be any wrongness about it. Strange... odd... uncanny...

Different. That is the best word I can find.

The first difference quickly became obvious as we set out upon our daily "constitutional" this morning. When we first began the practice, after all the other beasts started going out to plough the fields within and outside the Hedge and Dyke, it was just Tall Bob and myself, ambling pleasantly about the town, stopping on occasion to converse or exchange pleasantries. We also stopped at various buildings where Tall Bob had been tasked to conduct business for the inn. It would have been awkward in most places (save, perhaps, the farrier's forge) to bring a pony over the threshold; thus, my companion always stood beside me at the open door and engaged in conversation with the folk within, such as ordering new feather pillows from the goose-girl who drives her flock to the city fields each day, or a new set of bed-linens from the weaver, or wine or meat or cheese or other foodstuffs from various sellers. 

But today, rather than the two of us, as was always the case before, three of us set out from the inn: the groom, and two ponies – my dam and myself. 

I suppose it makes sense for both of us to take our exercise at the same time rather than being walked separately. Both my dam and I are well-behaved and, thus, do not require a handler's complete attention to avoid a mishap.

So while that was the first difference I noticed, it constitutes only a minor point and hardly bears mentioning. Or would hardly bear mentioning – if all else had remained unchanged.

But things are not the same at all!

Previously, as we walked (and as I have mentioned), the Bree-folk we passed in the street might call out or merely nod or raise a hand in greeting, and some might turn and walk alongside Tall Bob and "pass the time of day", as I have heard my hobbits say.

But now! ...the moment we enter the street before the inn, I hear folk exclaim – speaking my name! – and they break off the conversations they are having or the tasks they were performing before catching sight of us, and they gather round us, and some of them choose to walk with us as we make our merry way (as Youngest likes to joke as he jabs his elbow into the Merry hobbit's side).

When we were in that marvellous Valley where, if all is well, Merrylegs still grazes, Youngest would sometimes break into song as he walked arm-in-arm with the Merry hobbit, waving and gesticulating with his free hand and even throwing his head back and shouting the words in some places in the song. The Master always laughs at such antics, and so it is a wonder to me that Youngest stopped singing that particular song when we began our broken journey once more. Perhaps it is not the type of song one can sing softly. I can almost hear him...

Merrily we roll along, roll along, roll along!
Merrily we roll along, 'neath the bright blue sky!

Merrily we roll along, roll along, roll along!
Merrily we roll along as Mistress Sun winks her eye!

Merrily we roll along, roll along, roll along!
Merrily we roll along, o'er the fields of green!

Merrily we roll along... (and many more verses along the same lines)

As if I have summoned Youngest with my thoughts, I hear a clear voice singing that very song! ...but 'tis only a hobbit tween, singing his way down the street, at least until we catch his eye, whereupon the song breaks off and he bounces towards us, waving his arms and shouting cheerful greetings. But not to my groom...!

'Hullo, Bill, and fine to see you out and about again, my brave fellow!'

He also has words for my dam. 'And here's the Last Pony in Archet – and the fastest in the whole Bree-land, no doubt, save for our Bill who is without doubt the fastest and strongest!'

'And the cleverest,' Tall Bob puts in with a good-natured laugh, adding, 'but my Lady here is the wisest in these parts, or so I've been told.'

I am all astonishment – not at the praise for my dam, for that goes without saying, or so I should think – but the rest? I am having trouble understanding what the fuss is all about. However, my dam nods graciously, and laughter arises from the crowd surrounding us.

As I listen to the murmurs of the Hobbits and Men who are thronging us in ever-growing numbers, I am able to distinguish more of the words they are saying, including my name – both of my names, that is, "Bill" and "Poppet" – over and again, as if I might be the topic of conversation for some reason I cannot fathom. Hands reach out to touch us – my dam and me, I mean – which I might find alarming except that the touches are soft, gentle, even reverent. (I do not know that last word, but my Voices supplied it and so it must be right.)

How curious!

Another pleasant surprise is how many of the Bree-folk come up to us bearing gifts – and not gifts for our groom, or gifts for him to take back to the innkeeper, but gifts that are eminently suited to ponies! Carrots, and apples, and lumps of sweetness are only some of the proffered treasures, enough for all the beasts in the inn's stables!

Undoubtedly, that is their purpose, for Tall Bob soon begins waving away the hands bearing treats and telling the offerers to 'drop that delightful treat at the inn, with Master Butterbur, and he'll be sure the lad enjoys the fruits of your kindness. We wouldn't want to founder our brave pony, now, would we!' Then shifting our lead ropes to one hand, he lifts the other to his mouth as if about to impart a great secret, and the crowd around us quiets to hear him. At last, he says, 'And besides, the children are waiting!'

I am not sure what it is the children might be waiting for, but it seems to do the trick, for suddenly there are no more carrots or other delicacies being dangled before me, or before my dam, which would be rather disappointing if I had not already enjoyed several handfuls of various delights before our groom interrupted. And then the happy thought hits me! Perhaps the pressing crowd is slowing us down so that we are in danger of coming belated to the children who, before the recent emergency, had formed the custom of gathering together and taking turns in offering me some toothsome treat!

As we make our way, some in the growing crowd break off to go about their interrupted business again, but others who meet us further along make up for their lack by joining in. And so we three enjoy a convivial escort filled with conversation and compliments and story and song.

My friends the children of the town raise a cheer when they see us coming at last. Of course, my dam and I both lift our heads and tails high and prance a bit, for the excitement is catching. As we reach them, they crowd around our little group, and the adults who accompanied us to the marketplace fall back to make room for the children.

The petting does not stop, however, for children's hands simply take up where the grown-ups' hands left off. Moreover, I hear my friends, like their elders, murmuring a steady stream of comments and compliments and even a few exclamations of awe for some reason I cannot fathom. Nor do the Voices see fit to enlighten my understanding.

My dam tosses her head and whinnies, and then she turns her face towards me and says, Such goings on! Nothing like this ever happens in Archet!

I would tell her that nothing like this has ever happened in Bree, to the best of my knowledge. But I am distracted.

For my young friend Sam – not my Sam, o' course, but a Hobbit child of Bree – has stepped to the front of the crowd, and he holds a lump of sweetness in his hand. And my Violet stands beside him, similarly burdened.

To me, my little flower says solemnly, 'We drew straws for the privilege – we had to, for everyone wanted to greet the Hero of Bree and the Messenger from Archet! And so we'll be taking turns again starting on the morrow...'

I lose the rest of the words in my wonder. The morrow! What can she mean by it? 

Almost without meaning to, I realise I am licking up the sugar lump from her palm, and she is giggling at the tickling of my tongue. And Small Sam is chortling, too, as my dam does the same.

And the children and adults behind them and all around us are laughing, and then someone raises a cheer, and the crowd makes the marketplace (and likely all the surrounding streets!) ring with merriment and loud acclaim.

As I may have mentioned before, I am all astonishment. How...? What...? Why...? I cannot even form a coherent question.

The Voices come to my rescue, sounding as calm as my dam in a storm – though, at the moment, she seems quite as bemused as I am feeling. 

All's well, Greatheart. All is well.

I suppose I must take Them at their word. But it is all very curious just the same. And perhaps, like so many things that happen in a pony's life, I will never understand why. Or what. Or even how.

Through the cheerful tumult, I hear a whisper from my dam. Stop worrying so and enjoy yourself, my Lad, my own! Live in the present moment, just as I taught you, as is the proper thing for a pony to do...

Though my experiences have taught me to think beyond the present moment, I nod my acquiescence, at least at this particular moment. The crowd cheers again, so loudly that I almost miss my dam's next thought.

Good lad. And... Laddie-mine?

I turn my face to meet her steady gaze.

She swivels her near ear in my direction and snorts softly, then rocks her chin back and forth in a series of small nods and swishes her tail. I'm that proud of you, my Lad. Why, I couldn't be prouder! As ponies, we must always do our best... and I'm glad to be able to say this to you now, after all we've been through, together and apart and now together again, at least in the present moment, and hopefully for a little longer at least... Well done. 

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