Chapter 8. Winter's Rest

 Thorn wakened suddenly from a dream, straining against the bonds that held him to the tree branch. Some instinct kept him from crying out, though his heart thudded in his chest so that he thought it must be audible to the travellers passing beneath them.

Tall they were, and fair to look upon, and as they moved, light moved with them in shimmers and gleams. The hobbits watched in wonder as the Elves passed their hiding places. Scraps of music came to their ears, and their eyes were dazzled, but they made no sound or move that might betray them to these Big Folk, for Big they were, and thus not to be trusted, no matter how fair to the senses.

The Fallohides had continued to move steadily northwards with no clear aim. They had found no resting place as of yet, though the gobble-uns had appeared less and less frequently. In point of fact, they’d seen no sign of the creatures for days. Thorn thought constantly of the map the grey one had sketched, the Forest, the Great River, the Mountains beyond. Grand-alf had said there were no gobble-uns beyond the Mountains and the land was fair: field and forest belonging to a king of Men who would not begrudge a corner of it. Grand-alf had even said that there were already People there, a little different from the Fallohides, but People nonetheless, of proper size and furry feet. Harfoots, the grey one had called them.

Harfoots, Thorn rolled the word around his tongue. It stirred dim memory, but not an itch he could scratch. Kindred folk who might welcome them. Grand-alf said they were merry, clever-handed and quiet footed, and they made their homes in holes in the hills. Surely there was room in the woods for the Fallohides, who preferred trees to hills.

Any day now they would strike the Forest Road, and if they turned towards the setting of the Sun they would come to a shallow place where the Great River could be crossed. A “ford”, the grey one had called it. What to do? Should he lead the People ever northward, settle here where they were now that the gobble-uns no longer appeared on their back-trail, or should he lead the People across the Great River and the Mountains to the fair new land? What was to keep the spreading Shadow from finding them in the northern reaches of the Forest, after all? Nothing that he could see. Mountains, now... tall teeth of solid rock and ice, surely these presented a more formidable barrier.

’A barrier to us-uns, as well,’ Beech argued as they walked the next day. The Fair Folk had left no sign of their passing. Thorn would have thought them part of his dream if Beech hadn’t confirmed he’d seen them as well.

’We’ve seen snow before,’ Thorn said stubbornly.

’Snow outside when we’re snug inside our tree-holes is one thing,’ Beech said. ‘Sitting in the lap of the Snow is quite another.’

Fern fell in beside them. ‘Besides,’ he added. ‘How can we leave the Lady’s protection? To come out from under her skirts is asking for disaster.’

’There is forest on the other side of the Mountains,’ Thorn said.

’What if it’s different forest?’ Fern said.

’Let us hope it is different,’ Thorn answered. ‘At least, let us hope the gobble-uns do not range there.’

That evening, Thorn decreed that the families would stop a few days where they found shelter. There was a goodly supply of heavily-laden nut trees nearby, plentiful roots for the digging, and fish in the stream. With the late berries they’d gathered as they walked, the Fallohides had a goodly feast. The next day hunting parties went out, not only to find game but to check out the territory surrounding them. When the hunters returned, after caching the meat for the morrow the hobbits held a council in the treetops. It seemed odd, not to be gathered round a cheery fire, but they’d become used to camping in the trees over the long journey.

’Winter’s coming on,’ Root said. ‘You cannot mean we are to cross the mountains in snow!’

’There’s always snow atop those mountains, at least from my great-great-grand’s tales,’ Thorn said.

’Yes, but it’d be a sight deeper in winter,’ Fern put in. ‘I don’t fancy travelling in such.’

’We’ve seen no sign of gobble-uns in days,’ Burr said. ‘I say we’ve left our troubles well behind us.’

’The squirrels are as they ought to be,’ Beech added, ‘and the water from the stream is fair and pure. The bad things haven’t spread this far north. Why not settle here, gather as much food as we can—the late berries are nearly done, but the trees are heavy with acorns and nuts. Why leave all to the squirrels?’

’Did you see any sign of Big Folk?’ Thorn asked Bark. He and his sons had ranged westward, toward the Great River, even as Root and his sons had ranged eastward to the forest stream. Thorn and his sons had gone a day’s journey northwards, reaching the Forest Road.

’None,’ Bark answered. ‘There are fields, but they lie fallow, and remains of houses, but the roofs have fallen in.’ Root had found an abandoned woodsman’s cot near the stream. There had been no traffic on the Road, though it was in good repair.

’No Men to hunt and harry us,’ Burr said.

’No Men to befriend and trade with,’ Thorn said. ‘No Men in the land at all; that seems odd.’

’We’ve done without trade for some years now,’ Burr argued. ‘We’ll manage.’

’We always do,’ Bark agreed.

In the end the Fallohides decided to stay, to build a new community and a new life. There were hollows in some of the trees, providing ready-made homes. Other families began digging under the roots of trees, excavating what would become a warm, dry, comfortable home. A tree made a fine roof, solid and sturdy.

Deep in Greenwood the Great the little community grew and flourished. The hobbits gathered food until their newly-dug storeholes were bursting. The woodcarvers among them were kept busy fashioning furnishings for the holes, while the tanners tanned hides for clothing, for game was plentiful. The only menace the small folk encountered that autumn was a pack of hungry wolves, but the hobbit holes had sturdy doors, and Thorn had decreed armed watchers on high tree limbs even in the midst of peace and plenty. Should the gobble-uns return, they’d have warning enough to put up a fight, at least. The wolves shot by the watchers provided large warm and furry rugs for more than one sitting room.

’How long will we need watchers?’ Fern asked Beech as they returned from hunting, burdened with fat coneys and squirrels—good warm fur, and good eating.

’I think we’ll need watchers as long as we stay on this side of the mountains,’ Beech answered. ‘At least, that’s what Thorn says.’

’Does he honestly believe the gobble-uns will find us here?’ Fern said, stopping. They’d lived in peace for the rest of the Autumn. Now that winter was fairly upon them, he didn’t relish the thought of fleeing the creatures, or having his family catch their deaths hiding in the treetops in icy wind and rain or snow.

’Nothing stopped them before,’ Beech said. ‘Didn’t you hear the word? We’re to watch out for black squirrels. Thorn thinks they might be an early sign of the creeping Shadow.'

’How does he figure that?’ Fern said, easing his furry burden on his shoulders.

’I do not know; perhaps he asked the Lady,’ Beech replied seriously. His sister’s husband often took himself off into the wood. Beech only hoped he’d not run into trouble, going off alone. Still, Thorn had led them safe thus far, and he had the best ear for listening to the Lady’s whispers.

Winter set in, and the Fallohides were snug and warm in their holes. Thorn continued his insistence on watchers, taking his own turn along with his older sons. There was always a watcher in the daylight, perched high above the community, and as twilight fell he’d descend, replaced by a score of fur-clad hobbits with stout bows and quivers full of arrows. They’d take up their places in various trees and watch through the numbing hours.

Any grumbling there might have been fell by the wayside when another pack of hunting wolves ventured upon the community. These were hungrier than the first group and more determined, whining and scratching at the doors to the hobbit holes, trying to dig their way in. The watchers slaughtered more than half the pack from their high perches before the creatures desisted.

’More warm furs,’ Burr said to Bark’s eldest son as they prepared to descend their tree the next morning.

’O aye,’ came the reply. ‘Grand-da says that even if the gobble-uns never find us again, Thorn’s watch is a good idea, what with these wolves and such.’

’And such? D’you mean the Big Folk?’ Burr asked.

Oakbark nodded. ‘Grand-da says they’re snug for the winter, same’s us-uns. We might see more of them when Mistress Spring wakens from her rest.’ He paused, then asked. ‘Do you suppose that the gobble-uns are resting for the Winter as well?’

’That’s a good question,’ Burr said. ‘I’d rather think they’re staying close to home and we’ve gone beyond their reach.’

’You’re not alone in that,’ Oakbark nodded. He inhaled deeply. ‘I smell breakfast!’ he said. He put his bow away and checked his quiver, then began the long climb down.