Peppy

“I want my girls in Shire Rose again, Byco. As well as the lads ofcourse.”

Peppy arrived at the house in Overhill. The smell of freshly tanned leather overpowered the smell of the pine trees in the surrounding forest. He remembered standing here for the first time: Amorey took him to see the house in Overhill where she had grown up. She had shown him her room and the toys she played with as a young lassie.

One day Peppy received a letter from his elven minstrel trainer in Rivendell, the one that healed him in his childhood and who had remained a friend for life. It was this time in his life again, it read, that he was deemed good enough to receive more training. Usually Peppy then went to the most nearby minstrel with a training licence, but this letter urged him to come to the Grand Master of Minstrels himself.

Peppy had learned that for a hobbit it is no use to try and fathom the deeper meanings of elf thought, so he packed for the long journey from Bramblebury to Rivendell.

Dark clouds drifted across the sky above the village, obscuring the stars. A distant bell tolled the midnight message for the slumbering Shire. Fresh drizzle  was falling over the fields, and woodland as a cold Autumn wind blew. Beneath what was once known as Shire Rose's Hall, candles burned bright in their stands. The secret cavern hole reachable only by using a hidden passage in the in the Delving Fields, on the north side of the village of Bramblebury.

A bespectacled hobbit lassie came to me in my temporary quarters in Bramblebury. Hurried she was, stormed in and then, in afterthought knocked on the door. "Come, hurry!", she panted. The urgency in her voice told me there was no time to answer further questions and I dropped everything and ran out after her. Avornbelt, my faithful pony, was still saddled and I mounted. I picked up the running lass and let her ride with me. Avornbelt knew the destination, and galloped without much guidance from me. I felt two hands pinching my sides, holding as tight as they could.

The Beacon of Love

The bright light, the Bramblebury beacon,
the pilot light that guides me home each night,
that light of love, it's foggy now, not so bright
It's just the fog I tell myself, surely it has not faded.
I look for signs that tell me more, have fear to run aground.