Chapter 27. Speaking of hobbits and stories and ways to pass the miles...

The going is slow – or perhaps it only seems slower than before, for my companion tells me that while we made steady progress before we reached the stream where the brown wizard found us, it was also slow, hobbling progress since I had only three good legs to stand or walk upon.

And you are still healing! he emphasises with the hint of a nip at my neck. It is not even a nip, really, for though the skin of my neck shudders at his proximity, I hear his teeth click together in the air. I feel the smallest tug at my mane, and then he raises his head again to scan our surroundings. We must make haste rather more slowly, what with your wound newly healed as it is. It would certainly not do to tear it open again.

"Make haste more slowly" is such a hobbity thing to say, I answer, reluctantly restraining my eagerness to break into a distance-eating trot.

It is all too possible that my Rider first heard the idea from Hobbits, he answers. Either that, or he taught Hobbits the idea in the first place.

What came first, the chicken or the egg? I ask whimsically.

My companion snorts. None of your dwarf-pony riddles now!

It was a hobbit-riddle, I answer with all the dignity I can muster. My hobbits often pass the time during a long, weary stretch of walking by debating such unanswerable questions. They seem to take delight in challenging each other with riddles! Youngest is quite good at it, as a matter of fact.

The great horse tosses his head, whickering his amusement. It must be quite diverting to travel with them.

It is! I agree with a toss of my own head. Never a dull moment!

...so my Rider often said when regaling me with his tales of the Shire-folk, my companion says.

Truly? I ask.

My companion lowers his head to touch noses with me. Truly, he affirms. He is very fond of saying that he finds Hobbits to be amazing creatures; I have heard him say such a thing on more than one occasion.

I am not at all surprised, I answer.

The great horse snatches a mouthful of grass from the ground we are (slowly, sigh) covering and chews contemplatively. After he swallows, he adds, He likes to say that one can learn everything about them in a span of days – 'a month', to be precise, though the term had no meaning to me the first time he told me that particular story. And so, seeing my confusion, he explained to me that a month comprises the time it takes the moon, starting from full, to empty himself and then fill himself full again.

He shakes his head and concludes, ...but that is a span of more days, put together, than even I can count...

I sigh. If the great horse cannot count the days in a month, then what hope does a pony have to do so?

It seems that my companion has more to say. Yet even when he thought he had learned all there was to learn about Hobbits...

...in the span of a month, I think to myself silently.

They could – and did, and more than once! – still surprise him, even after he'd known them for... He snorts again and briefly lays back his ears, then brings them forward again and arches his neck, presenting the picture of curiosity.

For...? I ask.

...for as long as a hobbit's lifetime, he finishes at last. 

I think of the Old Pet, who has lived a lifetime of years, at least from his appearance of age. Was he the hobbit that Tall Hat was speaking of? After knowing him all his lifetime, he surprised Tall Hat somehow?

More than once, my companion has said. And so I can only conclude that the grey wizard has known hobbits for more than one of their lifetimes... time that stretches beyond a pony's measure or imagining.

Ah! I can smell water! my companion says, changing the subject. He lifts his head higher, peering ahead along the course we are following. Ah yes! There is a stream ahead, he confirms. I can see the gleam of sunlight upon the water.

Since I am so much shorter, I must take his word for it. I flare my nostrils and am rewarded by the smell of clear, flowing water.

I will never take a moving stream for granted, ever again, after encountering that stagnant, slimy, fetid creek on our way to the Door in the Wall of Moria. I hesitate to call it even a creek, for that would insult the laughing, sparkling creeks I have known in my life.

When we reach the stream, we will stop and drink, rest and graze, the great horse says.

I sigh. Walking, we have been making progress, albeit slow progress. Resting and grazing... drinking... While rest stops are refreshing and, I must admit, necessary, I am impatient to "make hay whilst the Sun shines", as Youngest is so fond of saying. (What an agreeable notion!)

We have many miles yet before us, my companion says in response to my sigh, more of a reminder than a rebuke. Many days of travel – more than you can count! – lie before us, even to reach the Bree-land. And if we are to travel onward, to the hidden Valley...

I sigh again. I know, I say. Would that I had wings to fly... 

What a notion! the great horse says, startled.

It is a song that Youngest sings when he is footsore and weary, I say.

Imagining a Hobbit with wings is quite as difficult as imagining a flying pony, my companion says, but then he stops walking and cocks his head. Still...

Since we are walking together, of course I stop at the same time he does, even though we have not yet reached the stream. At least we are close enough that I, too, can see the sparkle of sunlight upon the water when I raise my head. Still...? I prompt.

You say that the older hobbits tell the youngest hobbit stories as they walk along, to keep his mind off his troubles, the great horse says.

Yes, I answer, though I still do not know why we have stopped short of the stream.

The great horse snorts a chuckle. Well then, he says. I think we can take a page out of their book, so to speak.

My lord? I say.

He reaches over to nuzzle the back of my neck. I have quite the story to tell you, to pass the miles between this next rest and the one to follow, he says. It is a story my Rider has told me, and more than once, as we have travelled the long miles together.

I nod my head in acknowledgement, and then we resume walking.

Though his words are beyond my understanding (at least for now), he continues, It is a story about flying dwarves, and a flying wizard, and yes, even a flying hobbit...

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Author's note: Of course, Gandalf expressed the idea of getting to know all there is to know about the ways of hobbits in a month and yet being surprised by them after a hundred years' acquaintance in 'The Shadow of the Past' in The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

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