*plucks old deflated basketball out and drop-kicks it over the horizon with disgust*
"gah!!!"
*recomposes self and carefully backs Harley down onto the pavement*
*spies Skillery wrestling with cat*
*sighs, gets off bike, walks over and kicks kitty arse over the horizon*
"skillery, sure. can it wait?"
*stomps back to the Harley, clamps helmet down and tears off across the landscape in pursuit of that huffy walking wench with the basket*
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*off-roading across the unfamiliar countryside beyond the wenchy-tavern's rosegarden on an ill-suited vehicle, a singular thought crosses fallow's sun-bedappled thought textures*
"note to self: moto-cross, not harley!"
"riverbed?!"
*in an indescribably hurried sequence of events, Fallow is herkily-jerkily propelled from the gasoline-powered steed, across the aforementioned brook into a tree of uncommon arboreal resilience and shaded delight*
posted
It HAS been a bit strange around here of late. Someone just came in trying to find the "Good Tolkien Wizards" downstairs so they could defeat the "Evil Rowling Wizards" who are apparently also Hobbits of some sort.
Of course, I may be a bit confused. The fellow was most strange.
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*looks up into the branches of the tree to glare at the angry squirrel derisively chittering away at him*
*stands*
*a well-aimed chestnut glances off Fallow's noggin*
"bonk!"
"Sigh"
*Fallow surveys the cozy locality, nearly dipping into a brook-related reverie when his attention is stolen by the sounds of ... snoring?*
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Jenny is harvesting fresh peas in the garden. They are so sweet and fresh straight off the vine! Will any make it indoors for supper?
Also, there are ripe raspberries growing on the edges of the woods. Be careful! They have thorns and poison ivy grows nearby. But Oh! Taste the summer-sweet juice that stains your lips and fingers. I think you'll agree that any degree of scratches and itches are worth this brief hedonistic moment of pleasure...
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REELing from a head-on collision with a tree, Fallow mistakenly identifies the sound of giggling with his new-found nemesis - the squirrel.
*bonk*
Fallow curses under his breath and attempts to gain a foothold on the tree in pursuit of the irritating rodent when he falls face first into a basket of...
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"At least you have a sense of humor about it all."
*Adjusts straw hat and picks up basket of stinging nettles*
"Jenny? Shall I bring these back now? I can't remember if we need to dry these out before we can use them or if we need to immediately steep them . . . "
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*Wonders if she is dreaming reality or if reality is dreaming or who the heck is supposed to be asleep anyhow?*
*Wonders if she is awake or not*
*Wonders if it really matters*
*Wonders if Jenny has found Boromir or Faramir yet*
*Debates the wisdom as to whether sandwhiches were a part of Tolkien-land or not*
*Decides that if Harley's, sports cars and talking cats can exist in this current tale, sandwhiches undoubtedly can*
*Is startled out of her meditations by a grumphhl-snore-gasp and realizes that truly she is the one awake and fallow is fast asleep on the plush grass under Telp's shimmering boughs*
*Wonders if she merely imagined Jenny's presence . . . and what is to become of the current incarnation of the wenchly tavern*
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*fallow's fingers run through the deep plush carpet of Skillery's taste buds*
"huh?"
*fallow follows the beckoning light as a gagging gaping maw opens over a trestle table*
*does a jig on the tip of Skill's swollen tongue and stares deeply into hound-dog eyes*
"Don't look a gift-horse in the mouth."
*resumes native size on the table*
*is momentarily distracted by the noises emanating from the porsche in the driveway*
*wonders why anyone would choose to make sandwiches in a small sports car?!?*
"thump"
"bonk"
*fallow catches the nut rebounding from his noggin, makes a vulgar gesture at the offending and persistant rodent, and inspects the pea-sized projectile*
"Telpy?! I had no idea!"
*tosses golden nugget into the whispering brook beneath the benevolent boughs and watches it settle*
"Unhand me, sir! How dare you take such liberties with my person!"
*Is terrified the convent will no longer accept her now that she has been kissed and begins sobbing hysterically*
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*Notes that the neighbor's dog has remained quiet and contemplates the possibility of sttempting to sleep again*
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*tosses T-bone to neighbor's dog (if indeed that howling can be attributed to a dog 'round these parts), frenzilliantly weeds rosegarden without aid of nightvision goggles, waxes and polishes the porsche in the driveway, sweeps the tavern's steps, staggers into the tavern making sure not to bang the screen-door... *takes a deep breath*...
*rushs up the steps of the tower to deliver pecks g'night to sleeping wenches (oddly visible in slumber) then back down said steps to...*
*collapse beside the hearth, drawing his cloak tight and squinting through the tavern's windows at the moon*
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*is alarmed that at the current rate of descent he will come up well short of the target clearing*
*looks frantically for a place to land in the dense forest and finds none*
*spots a huge spider web strung between two towering trees*
*steers the kite in the direction of the web*
*slams into the web, the kite sticking fast*
*anticipates the arrival of the orb weaver at any moment*
*lowers the remaining twine from the spool and prepares to slide to the ground*
*with twilight approaching is not anxious to spend the night on the forest floor*
*remains in the sling, hoping that the orb weaver will not notice the huge kite and its Hobbit cargo*
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*Abruptly awakes from bizarre dreams during her snooze under the leafy tree near the babbling brook*
"Gracious! I'll never get to adventuring at this rate."
*Stands up, dusts off skirt, jauntily places straw hat atop her golden curls and sets back off down the road swinging her basket*
"Upon the hearth the fire is red, Beneath the roof there is a bed; But not yet weary are our feet, Still round the corner......."
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*follows the footpath, keeping several feet off to one side so as to not leave footprints on the trail*
*notices that the trees seem to be thinning ahead*
*hurries anxiously*
*stops short as the trees give way to a glade*
*sees a rickety old shack in the center of the clearing; a plume of green smoke is rising not from the shack's chimney, but from a strange contraption near the edge of the clearing; an old crone is tromping barefoot in a pool of brilliant blue muck; a large pile of mushrooms lies on the ground next to the pool of muck*
*is nearly overpowered by the stench of the place*
*freezes stock still as the crone raises her head and looks about*
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