Chapter 11 - Lost in Middle-Earth   

"Get off of me!" Elijah yelled. The Barrow just closed its cold grip harder on his
small body. Just then, Elijah remembered Tom. He called out a sweet tune. In
response, a deep familiar voice came bellowing across the empty downs.
"Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow. Bright blue his jacket is, and his coat is
yellow!" The old feathered cap stepped out of the darkness. "Barrow-wight, get
away! You do not need that hobbit! You unearthly evil creature!" The Barrow
moaned and loosened its icy touch from Elijah's limp form. He was dropped
face first to the ground as a chilling cry was loosed as a last breath from the
horrid thing's tongue. "Now, what do you say we get you some food, eh?" Tom
asked as he pulled Dominic, Billy, and Sean out of the cave. Elijah was first
out as he'd seen a ghastly hand still groping around in the dark.
"Why are we DRESSED like this?" Sean cried. "I want my old clothes. Oh,
wait, I won't find them ever again. Welp, better pull out the winter clothes from
the not five but SIX horses that Tom will now pull around the bend." He
crossed his arms and looked at the three speechless hobbits and one cheerful
man. "Oh, yeah. The sixth one isn't ours. He's fatter, stronger, and can carry
more than our horses and goes by the name of Fatty Lumpkin." Tom chuckled.

"For such a little hobbit, one would not perceive you as a mindreader." He
laughed. "Here are your *six* ponies." The five familiar and sixth newcomer
trotted around straight to Sean. He and the rest changed into the hot, itchy
winter wardrobe.
As they munched (they had not eaten since lunch the last day), Tom walked
towards a mound of treasure, overlooked before. He choose for himself a
cheerful brooch, then tossed towards the hobbits four small daggers. "These are
very old and belonged to sons of ancient kings." The actors had no idea what he
meant, but for a brief second, there was a vision in their minds of solid, strong
men with much dignity. Tom shook his head in reverence as if he knew what
they were thinking. He then spoke up. "Right. Now, 'tis high time for you to go
on your way! Look! The North Gate doth swing open!" He extended his arm
and the hobbits saw an iron gate.
Tom trotted along with them until they came to a line of trees. He then turned to
Sean. "Any last words before I go, mind-reading hobbit?" He chuckled.
"Yeah." Sean smiled. "After four miles down the road, we'll come to a city on
Breehill named, obviously, Bree. Hobbits and big people live there. We are to
go to the inn named Prancing Pony which is under direction of Barliman
Butterbur. And we shouldn't try to ask you to come, for your land ends here."
"Well." Tom said amazed as well as content. "I see my work here is done.
Giddup, Lumpkin." He then tramped off on his plump steed's back, singing a
tune.
"Let's get on to Bree." Billy smiled.