They had navigated their way around the Overbourne Marsh, keeping to trails in the thicker vegetation that made a border between the farm fields and the deeper bogs and fens to the east. A west wind had blessed them, pulling the worst of the biting flies and midges away towards the Baranduin.
Now they crossed the Shirebourne River at a low point and headed east on its course towards the Baranduin. They were now in the East Farthing, which for hobbits passed as the frontier. The largely flat bottom land was still well tilled but the houses were becoming occasional sturdy brick homes with thatch roofs, not the hobbit holes seen more often in the rest of the Shire.
This, their occasional contact with visitors from Bree or outright visits to Bree, made the East Farthing hobbits, Oldbucks notably, regarded as eccentric by other more staid hobbits to the west.
They stayed close to the Shirebourne, picking their way through a strip of riverine woodland that hugged its course a good thirty feet below the fields, affording them concealment. It was not a long ride to its confluence with the Baranduin.
“A good place to rest the horses. They’re been picking their way since dawn.” Aravir gestured to Aragorn, pointing out a small glade in the wooded bottom land where the two rivers met.
They found a ring of lichen-covered stones in the clearing, a campsite of unknown vintage.
“By the look of it, I would venture this an outlier campsite of old Cardolan.” Aragorn mused, finding a spot in the ring where he could lean his back against a flat stone.
“Or a spot where several families of Stoors made temporary settlement on their journey from Dunland some six hundred years past.” Aravir countered.
“You give them much credit, the hobbits”
“They are thriving. Cardolan is long lost, naught but ghosts on the Barrow Downs. Arthedain is gone from the living memory of men.”
“Such men and kingdoms that fought Angmar preserved the safety of hobbits, father. I wish hobbits no ill, but they have not tasted battle and thrive because others have.”
“And continue to do so because of the Watchful Peace, which your grandfather’s grandfather had a part, nearly two hundred years past. And for our efforts to see that peace continues. Would that all of the land west of the Misty Mountains be under plow and swords rusting away in cellars.”
Aragorn knew his father spoke truly. He actually envied the hobbits to a degree, secure in their land and their ways, prosperous, building homes and families while he led the life of a traveler much of the year.
After a short rest of less than an hour, they resumed their trek north, now along the west bank of the Baranduin. There was more room along the banks of this larger river. The deer trails were more distinct, making for easier passage.
It was on towards mid-afternoon when Aravir brought his mount to a halt.
“We are close Aragorn. His farm lies up the slope to the left. We can wait til dusk as not to attract attention.”
“Father, look. On the far shore of the river.” Aragorn pointed at an object half concealed in some trees near the water’s edge. They rode to the edge of the river for a better look.
“A boat, Aragorn. And by the looks of the grass and brush it was dragged down the hill from the farm above”
Aragorn followed a track of flattened weeds from the riverbank back up the hill to the farm where his father planned to meet the hobbit he had saved from drowning years past. But what was a hobbit doing rowing across the Baranduin to the woods on the other side. Aravir had the same question in his own mind.
“Odofur Oldbuck does have some Stoorish bloodline in him and is not averse to the water or watercraft. And some Fallohide as well, a spark of adventure. Aragorn, it has been an uncommon dry spring and the river is low. We can make ford here on horseback and see if my old friend is safe and secure”
Aragorn’s eyes lit up at the thought. A bit of pursuit, a minor mystery. Just what he needed after dreary leagues in Dunland and more yet near the swamps this morning. His father beckoned he lead the way.
Though almost belly high to the horses, crossing the Baranduin was a manageable task for their experienced horses. They emerged from the water and stood dripping while Aravir and Aragorn inspected the rowboat.
“A fine craft, sturdy, efficient and worthy, much like our hobbits.”
“Look, father, tracks in the river mud, some broken twigs going up the bluff. That would be our hobbit”
“Lead the horses to the top of the bluff. We can decide there how deep in the forest we ride”