A Gift
Boromir sat by the fire, restless. The others slept. He idly picked up a piece of wood. “Just another day,” he had told an inquisitive Merry, who had somehow found out that today was his birthday.
His fingers stroked the bit of wood. From the time Faramir had been quite small, he had always carved something for Boromir’s birthday. Boromir treasured each offering, from the first clumsy little wren to the last beautiful, fantastic dragon. Boromir took the knife from his belt.
When Merry woke the next morning, his hand encountered something lying beside him. Lifting it into the light, he saw a perfect carving of their faithful Bill, pack, pans and all.