Chapter 2. Fear

'Where's Pick?'

'I thought he was with you!'

'He brought an armload of wood back to the hole, but he never returned for more. I thought you snagged him to fetch water or somewhat.'

'No, I haven't seen him. Mum!'

Mistress Thorn came out of the hole, wiping her hands on her apron, her good-natured face flushed from the heat of the cooking fire. She was glad of the breeze that gently ruffled her light-brown curls, and thanked the Lady for the caress. 'What is it, Blackthorn?' she asked. 'Nooning is nearly ready, you lads might as well wash up.'

'Is Pick in the house?' the eldest brother asked urgently, hazel eyes gone green with worry.

His mother looked surprised. 'No, of course not, he...' surprise turned to alarm. 'Apple, he was with you, last I knew.'

'He came back to the hole, Mum, and I didn't see him again.'

Alarm turned to deadly fear on the hobbit mum's face; all the rosiness faded, leaving her white as the summer clouds. 'Didn't see him again,' she echoed faintly, and staggered. Black and Apple jumped to her side, guided her to a tree root just by the door, sat her down.

'Run to Berry's,' Black told Apple urgently. 'Get Da!' He raised his voice to call to one of his sisters. 'Holly!'

She answered from behind the great tree bole, in the back yard where she was hanging out wash. 'Here!'

'Holly, come now!' he shouted. She came around the tree, annoyed at the interruption, but at the sight of his face and their mum, just sitting when she ought to be bustling about the kitchen, was enough to stop her in her tracks. 'Get Mum a drink of water, will you now, Sis?' he added.

Nodding, she hurried to comply. 'Is Mum all right?' she asked as she brought the cup of fresh, cool water from the spring.

'She will be, once we know where Pick is,' her brother answered.

'Pick?' she said. 'He's helping Apple chop.'

'No, he's not,' Black answered grimly. 'Go whistle the rest in, send them in pairs to the neighbours; we'll start a search, unless Da has something else in mind.'

'Right away,' she said, and soon he heard her whistling and trilling as if a flock of songbirds had alighted in their tree, calling to the other brothers and sisters.

'No,' Mistress Thorn said, gripping his arm. 'No, don't send them out.'

'Mum, we have to look for Pick,' he said reasonably, but she shook her head, her face haunted.

'What is it, Mum?' he asked.

She looked up at him, her face sick. 'The entire Leaf family has disappeared,' she said, 'all but young Oakleaf who was benighted while hunting and sought shelter in a tree until the dawn. He returned to find his family's hole empty, and signs of...' She broke off and bit her generous lip. 'That's why your Da went to Berry's. There was to be a meeting of all the heads of householes in the area.'

A whole family... 'The Leaf family live furthest to the South of all the families,' he said slowly. 'Nearest to where the queer things are happening. I heard tell that Oakleaf shot a black squirrel that was no good to eat, last week.'

'Aye,' his mother said. 'And there's somewhat wrong with the stream, as well, the water's fouled somehow, black and unwholesome. 'Tis a good thing we get our water from a spring, but your da wonders if that water will go off, next?'

'Is that why the pig drinks the first bucketful every morning?' Black asked in astonishment.

His mother nodded slowly. 'If the water goes off, he'd rather lose a pig than a hobbit.'

'O Mum,' Black murmured. 'What is happening?'

She wrapped her hands together in her apron and began to rock back and forth on the tree root. 'O Pick,' she moaned. 'O my little lad, where are you?' She paid no mind now to the forest breeze that ruffled her curls.

Blackthorn raised his voice again to call to Holly, and she was there in an instant. 'I called to them, they're coming,' she said.

'Don't send them out, wait until Da arrives,' Black said.

'What's going on?' Holly asked. She crouched to put arms around her mother. 'Mum, don't take on so,' she crooned. She soothed and patted while Blackthorn stood by awkwardly and the time stretched out without apparent end.

Running feet were heard, and Blackthorn picked up a stout staff, holding it at the ready. He was relieved to see his father, six uncles, and Applethorn burst into the clearing.

'Has Pick shown up yet?' his father panted.

'No,' Black said. 'We were going to start a search...' More running feet came, from several directions, and soon all the Thorn children were gathered as well. Blackthorn quickly filled them in. He saw Hawthorn's face go grey, as if he'd been punched in the gut, and nodded. He felt much the same way.

'Each of you go with an uncle,' his father said sternly. 'Follow the paths. He'd stay on a path; he's wise enough to do that.'

'Yes, Sir,' Black said.

Uncle Beechnut, his mother's youngest brother, said, 'Black, you come along with me, we'll take the trail to the berry patch.' Blackthorn nodded, grasping his staff more firmly.

He kissed his mother and said, 'Don't you worry, Mum, we'll find him. Probably picked a bellyful of berries and fell asleep in a patch of sunlight.'

His mother rocked back and forth on her tree root and made no answer.

Beechnut and Blackthorn trotted down the faint trail, eyes on the ground and surroundings. Beech put up a hand to halt their progress, bending to the path. 'There,' he said, 'that's a fresh print.'

Black looked, sure enough, there was the mark of a small foot in the dirt, clear and sharp. The edges had not yet started to crumble inwards. 'That's the right size,' he said. He raised his hands to his mouth to call, only to be arrested by his uncle.

'Let's not make too much noise,' the older hobbit said. At Black's surprised look, he added, 'We wouldn't want to startle the lad out of sleep, now, would we?' That was not the real reason, Black suspected, but he said nothing. They continued to the berry patch.

Reaching the little clearing, Black gave a cry and swooped upon his brother's shirt, lying on the ground, stained ominously red. 'Pick!' he choked.

'Don't move,' his uncle warned, and he stood as if carven from wood while his uncle went over the ground. 'Tracks,' he said grimly. 'Huge. Not hobbits. Not bears or wolves, too big to be foxes.'

He straightened. 'I don't know what we're up against, but I have a bad feeling.' He extended his hand to Black. 'Give me that.' Black numbly handed over the shirt.

Beech turned the shirt over in his hands, as if it could tell where its owner had gone. He lifted it to his face to sniff. 'Not blood,' he said, then. 'These are berry stains.' Looking down again, he said, '...but those tracks...'

He pulled an arrow from his quiver, fitted it to his bow, moved to stand with his back to a tree. 'I'll wait here,' he said. 'You run back, fetch your da and the rest of the uncles. We're going to follow the trail.' He stopped Black as the youth turned away. 'And be careful,' he said.

'I will,' Blackthorn said. His uncle looked searchingly into his face, nodded, and released him to run at top speed all the way back to the hole.