The Delving Fields are quite and peaceful. Sometimes I enjoy walking there and observing how nature lives—all these little animals and other things…
But something was wrong this time. My first thought was that these naughty lads were up to throwing stones at coneys again. And indeed, I noticed a silhouette of a hobbit in the distance chasing after something. A coney maybe?
I ran after the hobbit and soon was close enough to see: the little thing was a coney indeed, and it was dead.
“Why did you kill the coney?!” I shouted at the hobbit angrily.
“Because I thought I can make a meal of it,” was the answer. “These coneys are frightfully tasty.”
Suddenly I wasn’t angry anymore. A hungry hobbit is a rather sad thing, and all the irritation surely is gone when you meet one. I was so sorry, and actually that was what I said, “Look, I’m sorry.”
“Regrettable indeed,” he agreed, thus not letting me know if my apologies were accepted. “But now I know I can’t get anything useful from these coneys, so I won’t be killing them anymore.”
“Oh, you are so kind!”
“Not at all. Pragmatic, I would say.”
“At least you don’t kill animals for fun, as men who come to the Shire do.”
His face showed the signs of astonishment, so I started telling him all of it: of the Big Folk I have seen few times here around, of how they are always silent and sometimes even rude and they kill coneys! Dumpo, I learnt that was the hobbit’s name, didn’t seem to see any of these fellows ever. So we talked a bit more, wondering if this could turn into something even more serious.
I was so excited about this cause that missed the point at which Dumpo changed the subject.
“…so I wouldn’t like to put the wrong feather on my hat,” he was saying.
“What is it? How there could be a wrong one?”
“Just look at the arrow fletching feathers…” he said. I looked. “You are courageous enough for a hobbit to pick up a bow and fight with it.”
To be honest, I suddenly became dead afraid. Not that I am a timid one, but ‘the wrong feather’ made me feel guilty. “So do you think I should quit this hunting thing right now?!” I cried. He smiled.
“Well, did your arrows ever happen to turn around?”
“You mean… at me?”
“Exactly. Unless you fire a shot as bad that the arrow returns and hits you, it’s all right.”
Well, that sounded calming enough. Later I learnt Dumpo was a minstrel, so he must be good at inspiring and stuff. “Maybe some day my music will lead me far away, outside the borders of the Shire,” he said. “But right now I don’t feel bold enough to act as rush.”
“That might sound quite odd,” I decided to admit, “But sometimes I feel like it’s a bit boring here.”
I thought Dumpo would start laughing at me as they all do but he didn’t. Quite the contrary, he was serious when saying this! “You might be right, but are we really ready to change a boring but safe life for adventures and dangers? I would think twice.”
Oh no, I’m not ready yet, and that’s why I am still here. Although all this Shire-life with chicken-troubles and pie-talks (pies are good! talks are not) is pestering the life out of me. After all, I’m not a Shire-hobbit, eh? I’m just too used to this place by now.
Finally, I was intending to leave, since I had many things to do yet, but Dumpo stopped me.
“Wait, Melisenta,” he called. “Look, I have a lot of this stuff,” he showed me a bag full of wolf hides. “You can do something with them, can’t you?”
“Well…” maybe I looked a bit confused, trying to understand whether he wants me to curry or to sew.
“Don’t worry! These are wolf hides,” oh, was he really thinking I can’t distinguish between animal hides? “No coney was harmed. Except one!” we laughed.
This day I got a whole wardrobe (who’d ‘ave thought?) of new clothes in exchange for some curried leather—Dumpo appeared to be an exceptional tailor and a cook as well. Later I made a nice little club for him, maybe one of the best I’ve ever produced!
Thus the day was spent and a new friend found. Now I have to stop writing because I’m going to hunt for some more hides for him…
