Chapter 119. Wolves and Wargs! 

Master concludes his argument against taking a vote now, in this moment, with the observation that (according to his understanding) Tall Hat will get votes more easily in the morning light than in the cold gloom that surrounds us now.

As I am pondering this curious thought (Does light affect one’s ability to vote?), he shivers and pulls his cloak more closely about himself, saying, ‘How the wind howls!’

Even as the skin on my back and flanks shudders as if in response to the wailing and howling in the darkening emptiness that surrounds us, Our Big Man leaps to his feet, startling me further. In fact, I shy violently, and my Sam grabs belatedly at my rope. Burdened though I may be, I rear at the words “wolf-howls” and “Wargs”, pulling my hobbit off his feet.

And suddenly Youngest is here, steadying my Sam so that he does not fall and grabbing at my rope to add his weight and strength, to pull me down to the ground once more. ‘Steady, Bill!’ he gasps, even as I plunge – or try to – at Tall Hat’s response. The hunt is up!

The Other Big Man (the one with the shield), who but moments ago said he would not go, now asks how far it is to Moria! It seems, somehow, a vote has been taken, though I was all unawares of its happening.

There is talk of miles and crows and wolves and starting first thing in the morning... so instead of voting in the morning, we will be walking? So we are staying here?

(Alas, poor Youngest, who confesses to my Sam his wretchedness: he says he is “no good after all”. I would beg to differ. Even now, as he has so many times before now, he has jumped in without thought for himself or his own safety – should one of my hoofs come down upon his foot, he could be badly injured. Over the course of our journey from Bree onwards, he has learnt to see what is needed and, more often than not, spends himself recklessly in dealing with our circumstances.)

Anchored to the earth by the combined weight of the Youngest hobbit and my Sam, it is all I can do to throw my head high into the air, the better to see in all directions as I roll my eyes. Thus, I look all about, trembling violently and fearing to see wolves surrounding us.

But my Sam soothes my neck with one hand (his other hand tightly grips my rope, together with Youngest keeping me from bolting in unthinking fright). ‘We aren’t etten yet,’ he says. Though he does not loosen his hold on my rope, he lifts his soothing hand from my neck with a gesture that encompasses our companions and talks about “stout folks here with us”, finishing with his conviction that Tall Hat will not end in a wolf’s belly. His words are addressed to Youngest, but I also find comfort and courage in them.

Of course, it doesn’t mean that the rest of us will escape the wolves. But the fact that my Sam can speak so bravely when his heart is right down in his toes is strangely steadying to my nerves. I stop fighting the rope and plant my feet firmly despite my trembling.

Youngest notices the change at once and strokes my nose with a whispered, ‘Good Bill! Bilbo told me the Elves have named you Greatheart, and I can certainly see why...’

I lower my head and rub my face against his arm, and he chuckles – despite the seriousness of our situation – and says to my Sam, ‘Just look at him! He’s telling us to be steady, rather than the other way around!’

‘Good old Bill,’ my Sam echoes. ‘There’s a good fellow.’

And though the wails and howls still sound on the wind, I find comfort – and even courage – in the approbation of my hobbits.

I resolve to put my heels to good use; not to run away, seeking safety, but to kick out at any wolves that might come up behind me. I swivel one ear to listen behind me, but the howls on the wind still sound some distance away.

When they come, I will be ready. At least, I will try my best.

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Author notes:

Some thoughts here are derived from “A Journey in the Dark” from The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

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