Chapter 5. Night Visitors

Beech slowed, then stopped as they entered a small glade.

'What is it?' Thorn asked, coming up behind, nocking an arrow to his bow. The others followed suit.

'The trail,' he answered. 'It... it ends.'

'What do you mean, "ends"?' Thorn snapped.

'Look for yourself, brother, a footprint here... here...' he pointed out the curious markings of the toeless foot. '...and none beyond.'

'A trail simply does not stop. Are you saying our quarry sprouted wings and flew away?' Thorn said in desperation, his hope fading. His wife's brother was the best tracker of them all.

'That would be the likeliest explanation,' Beech said calmly. 'We still do not know what we are following. If...'

He was interrupted by a shout from Blackthorn. 'Pick!'

'What?' Thorn said. His two oldest sons had run across the clearing, dropping to their knees at the edge. He followed, to see his youngest son asleep under some bushes, a smile on his small face.

'Pickthorn?' he said softly, dropping to his own knees, extending a trembling hand. In his heart, he thanked the Lady for sheltering his son beneath her skirts, keeping him safe from foxes and other predators until he could be found by his family. 'Pick?'

The lad stretched, awakened, saw the gathering crowd of armed hobbits. 'Da?' he said sleepily. 'Where's the grey one? ...and the Lady?'

'Lady?' Thorn murmured, putting away his bow and gathering his son into his arms.

'The Lady of the Wood; she was here but a minute ago...' Pick said, and yawned widely. 'She sang me a song and gave me wondrous bread to eat, like honeycake, only better.'

'Did She save you from the gobble-uns?' Beech asked.

'No,' Pick said, 'the grey one did that.'

'Grey one,' Beech said under his breath. 'A wolf, d'you suppose? But a wolf wouldn't have done the kind of damage we saw, and would have eaten the lad, besides.'

'Come, lad,' Thorn said, standing to his feet. 'Let us take you home.'

***

The hobbits found to their relief that nothing had attacked their homes whilst they were searching for Pickthorn; still, he'd been taken by gobble-uns less than a half mile from his home. Bad things were happening and as yet they had no satisfactory explanation.

Two more families disappeared in the next two weeks; Beechnut left his hole, packed up the few things dearest to him, leaving the rest. At the rate hobbits were disappearing, what did he need with a hole, and why should he continue to work to furnish it in hopes of bringing home a wife some day and raising a family? He moved in with his sister’s family, and Thorn was happy for the extra bow.

At the end of the second week a third hobbit family disappeared. Beech and Thorn scouted the area as they had after each of the other disappearances and came to a decision. ‘Tonight we’ll be sleeping in the treetop,’ Thorn told his wife.

‘The treetop!’ she gasped. She was not one to enjoy climbing, and as you know, even in this modern time hobbits do not care to go upstairs to bed. Her husband and brother were adamant, however, and shortly before sunset, Beech climbed the tree, made fast a rope ladder that he had fashioned earlier, and he and Thorn coaxed Thorn’s wife and children into the highest branches that would bear them, tying them securely with rope so that none would fall out of bed in the night. When all were safely in the branches, Beech pulled up the rope ladder in the gathering twilight and fastened it securely.

As it turned out, the rest of the families in the community had come to the same conclusion, but that was little comfort, when hobbit mums tried to find a comfortable position and thought of the mattresses stuffed with soft, fresh grasses, culled from a nearby meadow of a summer’s day. Still, one who was weary enough could sleep anywhere. Not everyone slept, as it happened. Thorn and Beech took turns keeping watch through the long dark. They had feared that a hunting owl might try to snatch one of the little ones from a branch, but the precaution of placing each little one with a big brother kept owls from molesting anyone.

After several days of this, the precautions paid for themselves. Beech stiffened as a growling murmur was heard in the forest. The wind that teased the leaves died, seeming to hold its breath. Beech nudged Thorn; since sleeping in a tree is uncomfortable at best, Thorn was instantly awake.

‘Something comes,’ Beech breathed in his ear. Thorn listened to the ugly sound and nodded. Both took out arrows and made ready to shoot if absolutely necessary. The noise grew louder. In the moonlight, Thorn saw the eyes of several of his sons blink open, and he put an urgent finger to his lips, locking gazes with each until he’d secured a nod from every one.

The noise grew louder, and suddenly the watchers saw movement on the ground, black shapes, somehow menacing though they appeared no more than shadows. A horrid smell drifted up to the sensitive noses of the watchers; Beech wrinkled his nose in disgust, then saw little Pick’s eyes widen in fear... and recognition. Beech pointed downward, then to Pick, then held his hand palm upward, in a querying gesture, and the little one nodded. Gobble-uns.

The creatures were crawling about the yard now, sniffing the ground, growling and talking. One discovered the disguised entrance to the hole and gave a shout; the others crowded around eagerly, with nasty, evil laughter. The laughter died after several creatures had entered the hole and come out again, empty-handed, and the growling returned, meaner, frustrated. More creatures dove into the hole, and soon the sounds of smashing and breaking came to the watchers in the treetop. Mistress Thorn was awake now, stiff with fear, listening to the destruction of her home. Thorn reached out, took her hand, squeezed it. At least they have not found us at home, the squeeze said. At least the children are safe. She nodded.

It seemed an eternity that the creatures prowled and poked, hunting for the family that owned the hole, hunting for the delicious-smelling quarry whose scent lingered on the beds the gobble-uns hauled out of the hole and tore to pieces. They pulled everything out of the hole in search of their prey, despoiling all that they did not take with them. Finally, frustrated, hungrier than ever, they departed in search of better pickings.

In the grey light of dawn, Beech and Thorn climbed cautiously down from their high perch and scouted along the trail the creatures left, coming to another looted hobbit-hole, and yet another. The hobbit fathers and uncles whose families lived in these holes climbed down to meet them, and, bows in hand, they continued to follow the trail until it had led them well away from the settlement.

‘They’ve gone back to their lair, wherever it is,’ Beech said grimly.

‘Well now we know what happened to the missing families,’ Thorn said. They turned back to the settlement, to where their own families waited in the treetops.