Post by Admin on Jan 3, 2021 21:10:18 GMT
Author: Palanotar
“Another one,” he says, and he shakes his head in despair, “another one o’ them circles in the fields. And I don’t rightly know as what can be done.”
I tut, sympathetic.
“Eh, Maggot,” I say, and set his plate of breakfast before him, “seems to me like as folk are sayin’ – now there be a King, maybe ‘tis for ‘im to deal with ‘em.”
He cuts, loads his fork, chews, thinking.
Swallows.
“Married to ‘un though,” he says, slowly, “married to some elf, bain’t that what Master Meriadoc ‘twas full of? Folk don’t think these things through. ‘E may be King, but if ‘e’s married to such, ‘e ain’t like to come down hard on – on them grey-elves as is like enough behind these.”
True.
I nod, and put more toast in front of him.
“That’s supposing it is greys as is doing such,” I say, slowly, and we look at each other.
“Ah,” he says, thinking.
Not a speedy thinker, my Maggot, but he gets there right enough – he can see through a brick wall in time, as they say.
“These circles,” I ask, slowly again, guessing, “they wouldn’t be mostly in – vegetables an similar? Not in the wheat?”
He nods,
“And I reckon – I reckon if I was to go and look careful like – I’d find there’s less trampled than missing,” he speaks slow, still eating, but we are following each other’s thoughts now, as old married couples do, “you know, missus, I might just be letting it known as ‘ow I’ve sent for the King’s ‘elp on this,”
“And wait and see,” I say, and we smile over the teapot.
Some days later, miles apart, the Thain and the Master of Buckland are having eerily similar conversations.
“No Men in the Shire, that’s what we were promised.”
“Yes Father.”
“It would be a pity if something happened to change that.”
“Yes Father.”
“These – crop circles – are causing distress.”
“Yes Father.”
The elder turns away, deliberately.
“Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes Father,” shamefacedly.
“Another one,” he says, and he shakes his head in despair, “another one o’ them circles in the fields. And I don’t rightly know as what can be done.”
I tut, sympathetic.
“Eh, Maggot,” I say, and set his plate of breakfast before him, “seems to me like as folk are sayin’ – now there be a King, maybe ‘tis for ‘im to deal with ‘em.”
He cuts, loads his fork, chews, thinking.
Swallows.
“Married to ‘un though,” he says, slowly, “married to some elf, bain’t that what Master Meriadoc ‘twas full of? Folk don’t think these things through. ‘E may be King, but if ‘e’s married to such, ‘e ain’t like to come down hard on – on them grey-elves as is like enough behind these.”
True.
I nod, and put more toast in front of him.
“That’s supposing it is greys as is doing such,” I say, slowly, and we look at each other.
“Ah,” he says, thinking.
Not a speedy thinker, my Maggot, but he gets there right enough – he can see through a brick wall in time, as they say.
“These circles,” I ask, slowly again, guessing, “they wouldn’t be mostly in – vegetables an similar? Not in the wheat?”
He nods,
“And I reckon – I reckon if I was to go and look careful like – I’d find there’s less trampled than missing,” he speaks slow, still eating, but we are following each other’s thoughts now, as old married couples do, “you know, missus, I might just be letting it known as ‘ow I’ve sent for the King’s ‘elp on this,”
“And wait and see,” I say, and we smile over the teapot.
Some days later, miles apart, the Thain and the Master of Buckland are having eerily similar conversations.
“No Men in the Shire, that’s what we were promised.”
“Yes Father.”
“It would be a pity if something happened to change that.”
“Yes Father.”
“These – crop circles – are causing distress.”
“Yes Father.”
The elder turns away, deliberately.
“Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes Father,” shamefacedly.