Chapter 2 – Berwin  

Rethe 25

Berwin rode north along the Baranduin. The rangers had told him to follow the river to the first westward bend, then turn due east and travel for one day to the Green Way. From there, it would be a three-day ride north to Bree. The rangers had also told him they would be watching to ensure he did not stray back over the river or otherwise try anything suspicious. He was to follow their directions exactly and leave these lands as quickly as his horse could carry him.

Berwin was more than happy to oblige. He had heard rumors of the rangers and had tried to get across the Sarn Ford without encountering any of them. He had not been successful. They had delayed him half a day asking him to explain his purpose until they were satisfied with his answers. At last they allowed him to go, but only after he swore not to stray from the path they had dictated for him.

He left the ford quickly behind, glad he could now continue on his way untroubled. Then the storm had hit and he’d had no choice but to wait out the torrent. Now the river was swollen beyond its bounds and he was afraid he would bypass the bend that would direct him to turn east. He did not want to risk calling attention to himself by passing into territory he had been warned against. He could not afford any more delays to his task. Finally he decided his best course of action would be to head east directly from wherever he currently was. He would come to the Green Way in time, even if it took more than a day, and the sooner he could get away from the river and its guards, the better he would feel.

He was riding through what would normally be grasslands, but was currently something akin to a marsh. Water inches deep surrounded him and the grass here grew shoulder-high and dense. 

His mare was cautiously plodding through the flooded terrain and was slowly taking them north. Now he pulled the reins to his right, toward the east, but the horse did not heed his command. She kept her nose low to the ground, as if she had sniffed a patch of sweet grass she liked.

“No Bera, this is not the time to graze,” Berwin chided and pulled the reins again towards the east. The mare reluctantly followed his lead, nickering gently. Then after only a few short paces, she again turned north. She snorted into the grass and swished her tail. Something down there had distracted her. “What are you looking for, girl?”

As soon as he asked the question, he saw the answer. The tall grass split and he saw a small form lying in the shallow water. He dismounted swiftly and bent over to examine what he at first thought to be a child. An instant later, he discovered his mistake as he noticed the slightly pointed ears, and the curly hair upon the creature’s feet. This was a halfling, one of the Little Folk. The man stared at the creature in confusion. How had this halfling come to be at this place?

He reached down and deftly felt for a pulse in the wrists and neck. Finally he found one, faint and weak, but steady. He placed his hand close to the halfling’s nose and could feel just the slightest warmth of breath, though he could not see the chest rise. So the halfling lived, but only just. 

He sat back and examined the hobbit before him, taking in what injuries he could see through the soaked and ripped clothing. The halfling had a deep gash across his right temple and forehead, and the skin was bruised to a deep purple. Several other, less severe bruises could be seen along the arms and legs, as well as many small cuts and scratches, the most curious being those upon the left hand. The knuckles alone were scabbed, yet the right hand was flawless. 

Berwin regarded this with interest, but did not linger. There were more serious injuries to be seen to. The halfling’s torso was battered and bruised with many dark splotches. The man touched the ribs carefully. This was one injury he was familiar with, having experienced it himself once, and he could feel several cracks under his untrained hands. Again, he lowered his head to the halfling’s body, his ear pressed to the tiny chest. Yes, he could hear it: fluid in the lungs.

He sat back on his heels once more and quickly came to a decision. He could not in good conscience leave this creature here to die. Berwin would have to get this small being to a healer if he was to have any hope of surviving at all.

Berwin stood and went to his horse to look through his saddlebags. First thing first, he had to get the halfling to dry land and in dry clothes. The Little One was unconscious and had showed no sign of awareness or even pain as the man had gently pressed his ribs. Berwin would be able to move him without fear of causing further pain. 

He pulled out a thick, wool blanket and draped it over the saddle, then went back to carefully scoop up the small form and carry him to the waiting mare. He sat the halfling on the saddle, wrapped him in the blanket, then swiftly mounted behind him. Once his hold on the halfling was secure, he took up the reins and guided the mare east. She complied with ease.

He rode for an hour, keeping the mare at a gentle trot, then pulled the horse to a stop. The river and tall grass were safely behind them now, and while the land here was still moist, it was not muddy or sodden. Here he would be able to attend to the halfling as best he could, then make his plans.

The man dismounted and lifted the hobbit off the saddle. He placed his bundle on the driest piece of earth he could find and wrapped the blanket more tightly around the small creature. He returned to his horse and searched his saddlebags again. 

He was not a healer and had only a few basic skills in that art. Neither did he have any medicines to stave off infection or illness, or even to clean the wounds properly. He would have to make do with what he had. He pulled out a couple of spare nightshirts, a knife, some rope, a water skin, a bowl and a handkerchief, then returned to his ward.

Berwin knelt on the ground next to the halfling and looked at him again. Now that they were removed from the water, he could see more clearly how deathly pale the poor creature was. The man placed a hand to the halfling’s left cheek and could not feel even the faintest hint of warmth. He would have to make a fire as soon as he was able.

Bending over, he opened the blanket and quickly removed the ruined clothes, sitting the halfling up when necessary. He used the blanket to quickly dab the hobbit dry, checking for more breaks and injuries as he did so. Gratefully, he found none and this eased his mind somewhat. 

He picked up one of his nightshirts and cut it open with the knife. He then cut this lengthwise in thirds and wrapped the first piece as tightly as he dared around the halfling’s torso to keep the broken ribs from moving. He took the second piece and wrapped this once around the creature’s chest, then tied the ends together to keep the makeshift brace in place. 

After this was finished, he poured some water in the bowl and soaked the handkerchief. He softly cleaned all the cuts and scratches before taking the other nightshirt and slipping it over the halfling’s body. He dipped the handkerchief again and went to work on the gash on the halfling’s forehead, trying his best not to cause it to break open and bleed again. He was not quite successful and had to use the final piece of his shirt to wrap around the wound.

Once these meager ministrations were complete, Berwin walked to a small grove of trees nearby and gathered as much firewood as he could. The storm had knocked many small branches and even a few large ones off the trees, and he soon had an armload of wood. He just hoped it was dry enough to catch fire. He returned to camp and cleared the area near the halfling for a fire pit. After several attempts, he finally had a blaze going.

Figuring he may as well eat while he was stopped, he took some cram and fruit from his saddlebag and ate this as the fire warmed the space around them. He munched on his food as he closely watched the halfling so unexpectedly placed in his path and care, and tried to figure out what he was going to do about it.

Berwin could not afford a delay in his errand. He had been regretting for the last two weeks that he had even started his travels late, delayed three days in the mountains due to his own carelessness and lack of haste. Then three days had turned into five, thanks to the rangers and the storm. Now he had this halfling to tend to and he was riding at a much slower pace than he should be. He would be lucky indeed if his companions still waited for him at Bree when he arrived. He did not look forward to traveling all the way home alone. 

He supposed he could take the halfling back to the rangers and get the burden off his hands. He shook his head. No, that would not do. It would be at least three days back to Sarn Ford, then three days back to where he was now, not to mention how long the rangers would delay him by asking more questions. They might even suspect him of foul play; they had not exactly let him go in good faith. For that reason, attempting to find this halfling’s home was also out of the question, though he figured it must lay somewhere to the north along the river. He could not be caught wandering in lands he had been forbidden to enter with an injured halfling in his presence.

So to Bree it was. He was going there anyway and it was only an extra day’s ride than it would be to go back down the river to the ford. Hopefully, that would not be too long a time for the hobbit to hold on. Once he reached the town, he could easily find a healer and leave the halfling in more capable hands. Plus, there were plenty of the Little Folk living in Breehill. They could take in this small one until he was well enough to travel home.

Now came the problem of how to transport the halfling to Bree. They were four days away at best, as long as there were no more unforeseen events to delay them further. Four days was a long time to be riding on a horse with broken ribs. The man also suspected that the halfling would be ill with fever or worse before too long, which would aggravate the halfling’s discomfort, if and when he eventually woke up. 

Berwin almost thought it would be best if the halfling did not awake until they reached their destination and a soft bed, but how long could one remain unconscious before it should cause concern? And if he did wake, it would be best if the halfling could lie down during the journey, which meant the man would have to somehow construct a stretcher.

He finished his meal, then went back to the trees and picked through the branches until he found two of relatively similar length. He dragged these back to the campfire, laid them next to the halfling and nodded. They would be long enough for his small charge. Berwin then dug again through his saddlebags. He pulled out his shelter, a single large piece of canvas cut into a square with ropes attached to each corner. He had used this to take cover during the storm by tying each corner of the canvas to different trees. He would use it now to wrap around the poles and give the halfling something to lie upon.

He wrapped the canvas over the poles twice, then tied the ropes around each end of the pole. He tested it to make sure the rope would not slip or come undone during the journey. He then took up his coil of rope and cut two long cords which he would use to attach the stretcher to the mare’s harness. It would not be the most comfortable stretcher ever constructed but it would serve its purpose until they reached Bree.

Picking up the water skin, he bent over the halfling and managed to trickle some drops of the clear liquid down the Little One’s throat. Then he drank the last of the water himself and quickly packed everything away. He checked the halfling’s temperature and was glad that the fire had done its purpose. The halfling was no longer cold and stiff to the touch, and color was returning to the pale skin. The most reassuring sign that the halfling was beginning to recover was that he was now shivering; his body was attempting to warm itself. 

Berwin snuffed out the fire with some handfuls of dirt, then wrapped the halfling into the blanket once more. Carefully and gently, he lifted the little being and carried him to the stretcher. Making sure the halfling was secure and tightly wrapped, the man mounted his horse and checked her into a gait. He was losing more time and would have to ride long into the night to make it up.

He stopped twice more during the day, once at midday and again just before twilight. At each stop, he checked on the halfling. Not much had changed and he did not know whether that was good or bad. He also tried to get the halfling to drink more water from one of his other water skins, but could only get a few drops down the halfling’s throat at each attempt. Still, he figured that was better than nothing.

At twilight, he noticed that the sky had cleared of all clouds, and he watched his first sunset in five days as he traveled slightly northeast. The sky was drenched in cheerful hues of bright yellow, orange and pink on his west, and to the east, the first stars were bravely shining through the brilliant array of color. He watched as the stars claimed the heavens and rode for a few hours more under their gentle silvery beams. When the half moon rose over the horizon, he looked for dry territory and stopped at last for the night.

Quickly and effortlessly, he set up his camp. Ever mindful of his unexpected guest, he gathered wood for another fire and started that first before doing anything else. He lifted the halfling and placed him close to the fire’s warmth before setting out his bedroll nearby. He then relieved the mare of the saddlebags and ate his evening meal in serene silence.

As he ate, the man watched the halfling and wondered what the creature would do when he awakened to find himself in strange clothes in a strange land with a strange man. Berwin smiled grimly. The halfling was certain to be frightened and confused, but at least he wouldn’t be able to run off and risk more harm to himself. That is, if the halfling even woke at all. It could happen that Berwin would reach Bree, get a healer and leave before the Little One even stirred. 

For some strange reason, this thought saddened the man. He did not want to think of leaving without at least speaking to the lad. He was extremely curious as to how the halfling had wound up in open land, though he guessed the river had something to do with that. Yet from the little he knew of the halflings, they did not like water and avoided it. He wondered why this one had not. 

“What’s your name? Where do you come from? Don’t you have loved ones who miss you?” he asked the sleeping form. He looked at the pale, thin face and the dark, curly hair tumbling around his head. He had seen many of the Little Folk his first time in Bree, but he could not remember seeing one quite like this halfling. Truth be told, they all rather looked the same to him, but this one stood out. There was something different about this one, and the man hoped he would be able to learn more about this creature before having to leave him. 

After he finished his meal, he again made the halfling drink. He had tea now and thought this would be better for the halfling than mere water. He managed to coax about half a cup down the creature’s throat, then dried up the spilt tea with a corner of the blanket. He added more wood to the fire and banked it to a roar, then lay down to a sleep of his own.

Rethe 26

Morning dawned pale and clear on the horizon. Berwin awakened early and checked on his charge. He was pleased to feel the heartbeat was now strong as it should be and to feel warmth in the halfling’s cheek. The Little One still shivered however, and Berwin realized with a frown that the fire had died out at some point during the night.

He gathered his empty water skins and went in search of a stream or rivulet to fill them. Careful to keep the camp within eyesight, he soon found a small pond of rainwater. He filled the skins, then decided to bathe while he was there. Once that was accomplished, he returned to camp, gathering more firewood as he went. He placed the water skins in his saddlebags and soon had a fire going. 

Smells, rich and tantalizing, yet strangely unfamiliar, were wafting up his nose, enticing him out of his slumber. He could hear someone moving about and the unmistakable sound of meat sizzling on the grill. Someone hummed and it was not a tone or tune he recognized. 

For several moments that seemed closer to hours, he lay there, completely still. His body was stiff with exhaustion, and he somehow instinctively knew that if he moved, he would be in a great amount of pain. He tried taking deeper breaths, but his lungs burned fiercely at the effort and he could feel them rumbling unhappily at the attempt. Slowly and with great effort, he lifted his left hand and brought it to his eyes to rub the sleep away. His hand felt like a dead weight and though he could feel his fingers upon his brow and nose bridge, he somehow felt disconnected from the touch, as if it was happening to someone other than him and he was watching from a safe distance. He wondered at this feeling and let his hand fall back to the ground as it pleased.

The aroma of the food caught his attention again, and his stomach clenched in hunger. He licked his lips to moisten them; they were cracked and parched. His throat also was dry and he found speaking difficult. “Sam?” he croaked.

Berwin looked up from his frying pan and stared at the halfling, who was lying every bit as still as he had been for the last several hours. Had he just said something? Berwin waited to see if anything further would happen. Perhaps the halfling was merely dreaming. 

For a moment it appeared the halfling had indeed gone back to sleep, but then he spoke again. “Sam?” he said in a rough, dry voice. 

The man took up a water skin and went to the halfling’s side. He cradled the halfling’s head and tipped the water into his mouth. The halfling drank eagerly, never opening his eyes or moving in the slightest. When he was finished, he cleared his throat and managed to say in a somewhat clearer voice, “What in the Shire are you cooking, lad?”

Berwin frowned at the strange question and sniffed the air. The food smelled fine to him. The halfling said nothing further for a long while and Berwin thought his small charge had returned to sleep. 

He gently laid the small head back upon the ground, yet even as he did this, bright crystalline blue eyes opened at last and looked directly at him. Those large, expressive eyes mesmerized the man and held him frozen to his spot next to the halfling. He could see the shock there, which was quickly overtaken by confusion and finally fear.

Why was Sam not answering him? Why did he feel so exhausted and drained? His sense of detachment was ebbing but with that came a throbbing in his head and his lungs burned still with each breath he took, no matter how small. Every muscle he attempted to move seemed to protest the motion and he so thirsty. But now Sam was giving him water, supporting his head so he could drink. Sam always seemed to know what he needed, even before he himself did sometimes. Yet why had Sam not answered him?

He struggled to open his eyes and after several attempts was finally able to muster the energy needed to do so, just as Sam was lowering his head back to the pillow. Only when he focused on the face before him did he realize with a start it was not his trusty gardener but some unknown Man, one of the Big Folk. A thousand questions seemed to invade his head all at once, increasing the painful throbbing and making the room spin. Only he was not in his room. This was not his bed. There was sky above him, clear and blue, and the ground beneath the blanket upon which he lay was soft and hard as earth.

“Who are you? Where am I?” he asked as panic and alarm sank in. He tried to sit up to get away from the man, but his chest exploded in a fire of pain and he lay back down immediately. The dizziness increased and he thought for a moment that he would be sick. He tried to calm himself and realized as he did so that the man was gently dabbing his forehead with a wet cloth. 

He looked up again at the stranger and saw the kindness and concern in his light brown eyes. The man saw him watching and smiled. Then, as if suddenly remembering proper etiquette, he stood and bowed formally. “I am Berwin, Man of Dale, at your service,” he said, and his voice was soft as meadow grass under a clear Spring sun, and his face was filled with empathy and care. 

“Frodo Baggins, at your service and your family’s,” Frodo replied automatically, with a barely detectable nod of his head. 

Whoever this man was and however he came to be in his company, the man obviously had been caring for him and Frodo felt no threat from him. Yet when he introduced himself, Frodo thought he saw a brief flicker of recognition in the man’s eyes, but the moment was gone so quickly Frodo could not be certain it was ever really there. 

Berwin smiled gently at his accidental companion, then bent down and resumed his ministrations. He swathed Frodo’s forehead with the damp cloth, then carefully began to unwrap the bandage that was in place there. Frodo had not even noticed it before. At least now he had an explanation as to why his head hurt so much. He figured another such bandage must be wrapped around his chest.

“As for where you are,” Berwin continued when the bandage was removed, breaking into Frodo’s thoughts, “you are currently in open lands. By midday, we will reach the Green Way, the great highway that stretches from the South to the town of Bree in the North, our destination.”

“Why am I here? Why are you here?” Frodo asked. He was desperately trying to remember what he had been doing last, but he only vaguely recalled waving good-bye to Sam for some reason. And someone had been with him. He thought hard, ignoring the pounding in his head. Who was it? Sparkling green eyes appeared in his memory, and they were full of laughter: Pippin. He was going with Pippin to… Buckland.

In the moments it took for this information to reveal itself, Berwin finished his inspection of the head wound and wrapped it up again. He was stalling, using the need to check on the gash as a way to delay answering Frodo. Those last two questions were not exactly ones he could answer. As for the first, he simply didn’t know why the halfling had been lying by the river. As for the second, he was not at liberty to divulge more than a general statement. He hoped that would be enough to satisfy Frodo’s curiosity.

“I am here because I am returning to my homeland. I had business to conduct with the dwarves of the Blue Mountains, to both the ranges north and south. That business is now complete, and I must return to my Lord and King to give report,” Berwin said at last as he returned to preparing the food. 

“You are here,” he continued, “because I found you yesterday morning washed up on the riverbank. Why you were there I do not know, and I was planning to ask you that myself. Several of your ribs are cracked and you have fluid in your lungs. Best I can tell, you were nearly drowned and are lucky to be here. But you are not yet safe; we must keep you as warm as possible to stave off any ailments. Once we reach Bree, I will get you a healer. I’m afraid I have no skills with medicines and cannot be of any help to you if you fall ill on the road.”

Frodo frowned at him, his confusion doubled. Drowned? Washed up on the riverbank? He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on bringing up his memories. He and Pippin had gone to Buckland. They would have spent most of their time with Merry naturally. And this was Spring was it not? Which meant they also would have attended the Feast, unless that hasn’t happened yet. But none of that explained why he would be near the river; he generally avoided it during his trips when he could. 

“Why can’t I remember?” he asked and shook his head in frustration. He soon regretted it, as the throbbing in his temples grew more intense.

“Easy now, Frodo,” Berwin said. “You suffered a terrible blow. You must give the wound time to heal and move your head as little as possible. Your memories will return in time. Now, you must rest and eat.” He scooped some food onto a plate and handed it to his companion. Then he helped Frodo to sit up and placed a stuffed pack behind him for support.

Frodo sniffed the food curiously. Yes, that was what he had smelled earlier. He watched the man and waited until Berwin ate a couple of bites before taking up his own fork. He brought a sausage to his mouth and bit into it. It was spiced with seasoning he had never tasted before, or at least never in this combination. The meat itself was sweet and tender. 

“It’s good,” he said, then took another, bigger bite. He was starved and wondered vaguely how long it had been since he ate anything.

The food seemed to strengthen him. He no longer felt disoriented and the last of the lingering detachment faded completely. His hands shook at first from the motion of lifting the fork to his mouth, but he was soon having less trouble eating as his stomach filled. Yet this itself brought a different problem, for the dizziness did not ebb entirely and he realized that his stomach was beginning to protest the food, however good it might taste. He slowed down his intake, hoping the nausea would pass.

When his meal was complete, Berwin offered him a cup of tea. “This will not ease your pain, I’m afraid,” he said apologetically, “but it will keep you warm.” 

Frodo accepted the large mug with both his hands. “Thank you,” he said and sipped the steaming tea. This too was sweet and tasted strongly of mint. It did warm him and as he sipped, he felt his stomach settle gratefully.

“How far is it to Bree?” he asked suddenly, having just realized that he had no idea where on the Green Way they were, or how long he would be in this man’s company. Or how long it would be before he received the care he needed.

Berwin frowned and looked to the north. “I could get there in three days, but that’s me alone without an injured hobbit in my care. I will have to go more slowly if you are to remain comfortable at all. That may add a day or two, though I will ride northeast until we reach the Green Way to try to shorten that time as much as possible. How do you feel?”

“Awful,” Frodo answered truthfully. He had been sick before in the past and had suffered a few serious scrapes in his youth, but nothing compared to what he felt now. The food and drink had helped, but he was still so tired. He felt that if he closed his eyes, he would be asleep in an instant. Every part of him ached and he could see the bruises dotting his arms. Only then did he notice that he was no longer in his own clothes and he wondered what had happened to them. This large shirt hung down nearly to his feet and he could not see what state of abuse his legs were in.

“Are you feverish?” Berwin asked.

“No,” Frodo said. “I’m cold.” Berwin promptly came to his side and wrapped the blanket around him. Frodo smiled with gratitude. “Thank you, for all of your kindness.”

Berwin smiled in return. “It was my pleasure, Frodo. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to pack up. Finish that tea and then we will see about finding someplace for you to relieve yourself,” he added as he noticed Frodo squirm uncomfortably.

A half hour later, they were on their way. Berwin placed Frodo once again on the stretcher. Now that Frodo was awake, he could tell the man if the ride was comfortable or if adjustments needed to be made. Berwin did not want him to be jostled about too much while they traveled. Frodo assured him that it was comfortable enough. In all honesty, he was so uncomfortable anyway, it was difficult to tell if the stretcher added to it or helped relieve it in any way. In any case it did not matter much, as he was soon sleeping once more.

Frodo remained asleep for much of the day, waking only when Berwin stopped for meals. The man would gently shake him awake and insist the halfling eat something and drink more tea. He could tell that Frodo was in pain and that every movement caused him discomfort, yet Frodo did not complain and spoke courteously with him between mouthfuls. 

Berwin marveled at Frodo’s stoic politeness and admired the diplomacy that the halfling displayed. While he was concerned about the amount of food Frodo seemed able to consume in a single sitting, as his stores were limited until they reached Bree, he let Frodo eat as much as he could. Berwin wanted his companion to get as much nourishment and fluids in him as possible, and it would encourage sleep while they traveled.

Berwin rode in a northeasterly direction as he had promised, hoping this would help get back some of the time he lost. He at last reached the Green Way by midday and turned his mare due north. He kept the horse at a gait and stayed to where the land was mostly flat and smooth. He felt that despite the delay, they were making good time. 

By this time tomorrow, they should be able to see the hills of the Barrow Downs on the horizon. Those hills were treacherous, or so he was told, but as long as he did not stray from the highway, he would be able to pass without hindrance. They would reach Bree just a few hours after emerging from the downs. He hoped his traveling companions would still be waiting for him when he arrived, perhaps held up by the storm themselves.

At nightfall, he traveled again under the stars until the moon rose. The day had been warm and much of the dampness of the soil had dried. As such, he had little trouble finding a suitable place to set up camp. However, he did have trouble finding wood. There were few trees here and the branches available were small and of little use. He gathered as much as he could and lit a fire anyway. Frodo could at least be kept warm for a few hours if not more.

He lifted Frodo from the stretcher and placed him near the fire. He shook the halfling awake only after the meal was cooked.  “How are you feeling?” he asked again.

“Cold,” Frodo replied. 

This had been his answer throughout the day. Berwin frowned and placed a hand upon Frodo’s cheek. His frown deepened. “You’re warm,” he said simply. The fever was settling in. By morning, Frodo would be burning with it. “You should be all right until we reach Bree.”

Frodo smiled wearily and shivered involuntarily. His feet felt like ice and his hands shook. He did not feel warm anywhere. All he knew was the pain and weakness throughout his body and the burning in his lungs with each breath he took, no matter how small or careful. 

Whatever rejuvenation he had felt earlier in the day was now gone. He yawned with exhaustion, still tired even after two days of sleep. The yawn proved too much for him and he was soon coughing. His chest protested this abuse, but he could not help it, and his eyes watered from the pain.

Berwin did what he could to bring his companion comfort, but it was of little help. In the end he could do little more than hold a cup of tea to Frodo’s mouth and gently hold his companion in a sitting position until the coughing fit ended on its own. He had never felt so useless before, and he regretted the long miles ahead of them. 

Though he knew little of Frodo, the halfling was kind and eloquent in his manner and bore an air of nobility and innocence that the man found intriguing. He had never known anyone quite like Frodo Baggins. He had been looking forward to getting to know him better over the few short days they would have together, but if Frodo took ill… What if he didn’t make it to Bree?

Berwin shook his head. There was no use thinking such things. He could only care for his companion as best he could and hope that it would be enough.

To be continued…