Chapter 12. Thoughts about time and time-telling

The Sun has left her high place, though my shadow, when I study it, is short. Thus, I am able to discern that it is not too much past noon – the term my hobbits use for the time when the Sun is at her highest point. Though I suspect my companion has knowledge of many more of the words of Men and Hobbits and Dwarves and Elves, yes, and Wizards than I do, "noon" is a word I have heard every day from my hobbits as it has seemed rather important to them.

The importance of "noon" or "nooning" or "noontide" has little to do with the position of the Sun, moreover, though at first I thought it had to do with her shining directly overhead. But no, instead, insofar as I have been able to gather from listening to my hobbits, the word has to do with a mealtime.

For Hobbits (and Men and Dwarves and Elves, yes, and Wizards as well) follow the curious practice of eating at set times. I first learned about this custom from my dam, as she taught me about the ways of the world, when I was but a foal.

Foals nurse when they're hungry, and they lark about when they're not eating or sleeping, and they sleep when they've tired themselves through playing under the smiling Sun. And when they're sleeping, of course, their dams stand over them or graze nearby, keeping a watchful eye out for potential harm, such as carrion crows or straying dogs.

Grown ponies (or horses, as I observed in that marvellous Valley that I hope to see again, and sooner than later if I should have my desire granted) graze throughout the day and often into the evening and even at night, if they are not shut up in a building but left in a pasture or meadow overnight. Our old Man left us in the meadow for days on end and only shut us up in the shelter when the weather was threatening or actually disagreeable.

Thus, the Moon and stars and I are old friends, of long and old acquaintance, from my earliest days – beginning when I no longer wobbled when I walked, which I did when I first came into the world, but not for long. My dam told me that foals in the wild must be able to stand almost immediately after coming into the world – and run not long after that! ...so that they can keep up with their herd and run away from danger at need, or move into the centre of the circle of older, wiser, stronger beasts to find safety.

Many were the nights I lay on my side, staring into the sky, listening to the homely sound of my dam's teeth tearing the grass nearby and then chewing as she grazed deep in the night.

What I am trying to say is that ponies have no set mealtimes. We graze often when we can do so.

Frankly, my hobbits find this habit amusing and are often heard to call me a "fellow hobbit" for my propensity to graze whenever possible. And yet I deem that they are not entirely accurate in their estimation. For from what I have been able to gather, they follow set mealtimes, with names like "early breakfast" and "second breakfast" and "elevenses" (I know that "eleven" is a number, though I have no idea what it means since I cannot count that high), all of which happen between the time the Sun first makes her appearance and the time she is directly overhead. Then there is "nooning", as I have already mentioned. And then, as the Sun moves towards her rest come "tea" and "eventides". Even after she disappears, leaving darkness behind, my hobbits will speak of still more set times for eating: "supper" and "late supper" and even "midnight supper"!

Another kind of meal is called "a snack" and may occur at any time of day, no matter where the Sun may be (or may not be) in the sky.

I may be giving the impression that my hobbits sit down at each of these times and stuff themselves with food – which is certainly not the case, at least when we are travelling. They may well have done so in that marvellous Valley. When travelling, however, "rest stops" seem to coincide with "mealtimes" unless our rations are running short.

Nevertheless, I hear my hobbits speaking about the various meals as the day progresses even though they are not sitting down and eating but walking without pausing.

I have come to realise that meals are a way of keeping time for my hobbits!

My old Man had a pocket watch, as I recall. He would come out to our field, and as we came up to the fence to greet him, he'd pull out a round, shiny object from his pocket, stare at it, and say, 'Nine o' the clock! Right on time!'

Or if he came at a different time of day, he'd call out some other number. It never made much sense to me, but my dam told me it was a way of counting the time of day, and that the round, shiny object was a "pocket watch", as I have mentioned, and somehow looking at it told him what number he should say at any particular time.

So when one of my hobbits calls out "elevenses", it is as if his stomach is a pocket watch of sorts, telling him the time of day.

Looking at the sky, I think it must be past "noontide" and even, perhaps, past "late nooning" though not quite so late as "teatime".

The Voices stir within me; They sound somehow restless to my inner ear. Time to move on.

I have been browsing the tufts of grass to be found here, staying close to my companion even as I move from tuft to tuft to graze, tracing circles around him. It isn't much, but it's something.

My companion has been staring this whole time, not in the direction we were going but back the way I came from. Back, I think, in the direction where Tall Hat might be found, along with my hobbits and the two Big Men and the Elf and the Dwarf, at least if my companions have been able to keep close together and not become separated. Unlike myself, that is.

But such thoughts are troubling, for if he fell, as my companion said when we stopped travelling, and is falling still, does that also hold for my hobbits...?

Try as I may, I can feel no sense of them. I have no sense of Tall Hat, either, except for the Voices he planted in my thoughts. And when I have asked Them – the Voices, I mean – what has happened to the wizard, They have remained silent on the matter.

Nor has my companion spoken at all since the nooning.

Greatly daring, I approach him, but he seems to take no notice of me. His head is high, and he is staring in the opposite direction from the way the Voices are telling me to go.

I gather my courage and nudge him. He might be a statue, like one of the stone Trolls I still remember dimly, though his shoulder is warm and soft, not cold and stony. He neither moves nor speaks.

I adjust my aim and nudge him in the flank, the place my Sam calls my "ticklish spot" – only it is the same spot on my companion, if you take my meaning.

At this, my companion startles and jumps, and his head swings around towards me. I watch him warily, ready to recoil from his teeth or hoofs should he show signs of snapping or striking.

But he says only, What is it? Is aught amiss?

It is time to move on, I say, for that is what the Voices are saying. It is not a mealtime, not as my hobbits would name it, but it is a time that has its own meaning. And that meaning is now, as well as where (which is not here but on the way to somewhere else).

His flanks expand as he draws a deep breath, and then he sighs it out again and lowers his face to mine. Did I not say you were wise, Greatheart? 

Did he? I don't remember.

You have the right of it, he adds. We cannot stay here. We must move on.

We all seem to be in agreement, my companion, the Voices, and myself.

I bend my neck in a circle and follow my nose around until I am facing the westering Sun, and then I begin to walk, occasionally snatching at a tuft of grass that crosses my path as I go.

My companion is following, for I can hear his light but steady footsteps when I cock my ears to hear behind me.

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