The Rangers of the Lune are, in some ways, those who remain of the noble Dunedain founders of Arthedain. They are smaller in number than those of their people that dwell near the Trollshaws, yet they were the first to whom we taught the ways of the land. When the kingdom of Arthedain fell, they kept safe the people fleeing west to Lindon as they maintained a vigil for the return of their king. They still watch over the trappers who live up and down the river. You may in fact have met a few of them among the hunters that venture into the Ered Luin. As less of us have come to wander the paths of Eriador they are more often our means of contact with the men of the North.
However, the man stalking down the hill towards me was most certainly not a Ranger. His garments were too covered in leaves, sticks and other loose pieces of foliage to belong to any experienced in travelling in thick forest. No ranger of the north would be encumbered even by leather armour. And while he had done well in sneaking up on us, from the way he was holding the bow it was probably not his intention to stay hidden for long.
He had come to a stop now, likely wanting to keep some distance from the dwarven axes. Although I could make out some of his companions hiding behind trees further uphill. The man looked as if he did not want to be there, but kept his gaze on us. More specifically, at Wingard Puddifoot.
I had more experience with that section of the forest, closer as it was to the old paths to Edhelion. The runic inscriptions on the branches were also legible. I do not know why the ones of the trees overhanging the village had been worn away. Had the hobbits found and removed the symbols after delving Gamwich, or had the forest’s previous guardians erased them before leaving? There were enough old markings to lead to a grove of trees secluded between the hills. However I already knew it wasn’t the place we were after.
Before leaving, I spent a short while checking nothing had been left by other travellers before finally returning to the village. There were several conspicuous enough hollows but no items beyond nuts and leaves could just have easily been placed there by woodland animals. The journey back we found far easier, for there are not as many predators among the thick woods.
Once at Gamwich again, I decided to look into the village’s missing supplies of food. If we could find out how the men had managed to steal from the hobbits it may provide an answer to why they thought the hobbits had stolen from them. I began with the crate of mushrooms which had disappeared earlier in the day. The mushroom-seller had first thought it left among the others by the bank of the river, but assured me the matter was now resolved. Apparently the mushrooms had been redeemed as part of an earlier order. The Shire’s arrangement of food-orders, he explained, allowed for customers to exchange bad or expired food they had purchased for a written notice they could use to redeem a similar item from the same vendor. Such a notice had been found later by the boxes. It was likely, he supposed, that some hobbit had simply swapped the crate for the order, being too hungry to conduct the process formally. Such things were not uncommon in the Shire. It could not have been a forgery – the torn paper was a match for the ledger-book he had taken it out from. Still, I was convinced that the mushrooms had not ended up in the hands of a hobbit. I asked Lorin to have his company aid me in looking through the recent instances of ‘redeemed’ food for signs of theft.
‘Then let us alert Vigdi’ he said. ‘We must investigate the honey-cakes’.
By the close of the evening we had collected together at Lily Brownlock’s house all the used financial records of the village for the past several days. The dwarf Fundin, as clerk for the expedition, had identified most of the more suspicious orders as having originated from the same source about three days ago. It had been for one Master Greencloak, a merchant from Long Cleeve who had filled his wagon with custom-made crates to carry back the excess harvest from Tighfield.
‘I’m not surprised most of the food he bought was spoiled’ mentioned our host, ‘by then it was already a day since the harvest. Perhaps the trip from Long Cleeve took longer than he thought? And why would some of the big folk be using his orders? It’s like one of Barnabus Hayward’s stories.’
I thought I understood half of it by then. ‘Because they were hungry, I’m sure. I think they are living up in the fort by the waterfall, they could have seized the food-wagon from there on its way back. And as for why they are using food-orders instead of stealing outright, it would be to avoid alarm – they seemed unwilling to seek confrontation. Burglary is always easier when nobody ever realizes it.’
That was the last of the day’s events, which seem both too much and too little. I still do not know what the hobbits were meant to have stolen, but feel closer to an answer now. I will need to find one tomorrow, for I am certain we will encounter those men again before we find the lost grove.
