The Commander's Day Off

    The desk in the Company House was covered in piles of parchment, mountains of manifests, and mounds of missives. The Commander struggled to arrange and sort through all the paperwork, his years of military service had not prepared him properly for his new duty as the new master of the Company. He put his quill aside and resigned himself to finish the rest of the work after a short ride to Bree. Col, full of impetuousness, hoofed at the ground of the stable as the Commander gathered his tack and fastened his blanket and saddle. The two burst from the Company’s property with a sudden energy that would be more likely found in a man and a horse half the pair’s own ages. They took a scenic detour through the Chetwood and Stadle, jumping over the fence rows and riding past the angry shouts of angered hobbit farmers.
The wind in his hair and the sun on his face, it was a reminder of the brief moment of freedom from the responsibilities of his station. He rode this day to a small mushroom farm overlooking a small stream. The owner of the farm, fast asleep on his front porch and did not notice the Commander borrow his fishing pole. Having removed his boots, the Commander made little noise, and the feel of the cool grass between his toes was more a reward than he had expected.
The day flowed by him like the cool water of the stream. He saw the sun begin to dip down into the hills. He gathered his things, fastened the saddle and tack back on Col, and rode off back home with his bare feet stretched out at the side of his steed.
Minutes later, Timothy Tums the lonely mushroom farmer woke up. His hat fell off his balding head and when he bent down to his feet to pick it up he was greeted by a pair of speckled trout in a loose pouch.