Dogward's feet came to a stop before a low stone fence. Not far past that barrier was the town of Scary, and he could see towering past that was the sheer face of the hill the local hobbits mined as a quarry. The top of that hill was sparsely covered with grass and trees. It was also one of Dogward's favorite places in all of The Shire.
From atop that hill could be seen across the Brandywine river into the Brandy Hills of Bree-land, Dogward's beloved Greenfields and past them the Binbole Wood, and on a clear day he could even imagine making out the stone Brandywine Bridge far to the south. Some times at night he would sneak away to lay down in the rough grass up there, staring up into the starry night sky. Dogward now smiled at such pleasant memories, even beginning to sing his favorite line from the song his dad had taught him:
“And I wonder if they, watch us during the day...”
His feet now carried him west down the road. Folks he passed along the way would invariably wave with a friendly “Hello,” something he didn't realize how much he'd missed as he traveled through lands where everyone seemed naturally suspicious of everyone else they met. As he came over a last rise before descending towards his hometown, even the windmills dotting the hills seemed to be waving a greeting at him. Dogward chuckled at the scene and waved back. After all, it just wouldn't do to be rude to a windmill, now, would it?
Further down the cobblestone road, Dogward strained his eyes to get a glimpse of the statue of Bandobras the Bullroarer before passing it, until he heard a sudden sound that made him stop in his tracks and reflexively reach behind his back for a javelin. A bush next to the roadway began shaking, movement could be seen within its leaves, and then... the wooly head of a little lamb poked out of the foliage, bleating pitifully as if to emphasize the pickle it had gotten itself into.
Dogward let out a deep breath and chuckled, dropping the heavy sack from his left hand. With a soft smile and making comforting cooing sounds, the former sheep herder knelt down and reached into the bush, carefully extricating the lost lamb from its prickly predicament. He patiently held onto the squirming creature until it became comfortable in his arms, and then ran his fingers over its ears, checking for the tell-tale marks indicating to which sheep farmer it belonged.
Clucking his tongue, Dogward hefted the young sheep up behind his neck, holding onto its rear legs to make sure it stayed put. “Come on, little friend. Mungo must be worried sick about you. We'll get you home. Don't you worry.” The lamb bleated its wholehearted agreement as the hobbit picked up his sack with his free hand and left the road to find Mungo's flock.
Surely a small detour on the way home wouldn't hurt, would it?
