Pixie Dust

Stories are told of an ancient people, who love peace, quiet, and good tilled earth, who have quick hearing and sharp eyes. Ancient people, who were small and round, wore bright colors but no shoes, faces good-natured, eyes bright and red-cheeked, with mouths apt for laughter, eating and drinking. Stories told of the ancient people called the Little Folk, but alas, many say, they are just stories nothing more nothing less. After all, no one has actually seen one of these so-called Little Folk, so it must be merely the imagination.

The imagination is real.

They are called Hobbits, prefer the name actually, and just as real as any Men, Elf, or Dwarf, and are as just as the stories say, but if they are real; why have none been seen you ask? Well it could be that they are nimble and deft in movement, able to disappear swiftly and silently, or it could be because they are no bigger than your thumb (some an inch or two taller) fitting easily in the palm of a hand and have wings that help them fly high into the trees.

There are many reasons.

Though if you asked a Hobbit, they will merely tell you the Big Folk (as they call us) just don't take the time and look.

Hobbits are children of Yavanna, born to help their mother with her garden of Middle-Earth, they hear and feel the earth, a consist energy that tickled their surprisingly large and hairy feet. With gentle hands (and a little bit of magic) they help all things green grow and heal, with gentle voices they soothe savage beasts. It is such a connection that often many will find a forest, or a beast or two protecting the little gardeners.

As said before they are peaceful Folk, and while they prefer to run and hide rather than face danger, it did not mean they were defenseless, they are fierce protectors of that what they love and those who knew of Yavanna's children know better than to anger them in such a way.

Because of who they are, they live all around Middle-Earth, but because they are not seen; many of the stories say that the Little Folks prefer the comforts of home and hardly went pass the borders. Which there is some truth; Hobbits do enjoy the comfort of home. They do not however, stay at home. They are by nature, nurtures and such is the connection, they are often off growing and healing with an adventure or two along the way. Such are the Hobbits of Yavanna.

What is the most fascinating is that are just not one type of Hobbit, there are the Harfoots, the Stoors, and the Fallohides, within that are the families: Bagginses, Boffins, Tooks, Brandybucks, Grubbs, Proudfoots and many, many more! What is even more fascinating about Hobbits is that they can lift ten times their own body weight! Some can even fly through the harshest of storms, which brings us to the next unique thing about our Hobbits, they're wings.

Like the Hobbits themselves, a Hobbit's wings comes in varies shapes and sizes, though you will only see such sights if you go beyond the border of Bree. Though what I like most, is when night has fallen. During that time the Hobbits glow, what a wondrous sight, heavenly lights dancing in the sky with the wind carrying laughter.

~.~

Our beginning begins in the Shire, or rather Hobbiton, a place of rolling green hills and blooming sea of flowers, upon entering the Shire, one would think they had merely stumbled upon a peaceful valley, for there was no housing of any kind, but if one took the time to lay upon the ground and took a closer look, they'd find something most amazing…..

Bilbo Baggins was considered an odd Hobbit by those in Hobbiton and perhaps the whole Shire, but it was not because he heard and helped the earth grow, or because he could speak the language of beasts. All Hobbits could do those things, no what was strange about Mister Baggins of Bag End was his glow.

It was white.

A strange color for a Hobbit, for while their glow came in varies colors, there never was white. It puzzled all and caused many whispers, for Hobbits were gossipy as they were fussy. Whispers, Bilbo cared not for, though the stares did make his wings flutter with annoyance from time to time when he went into the market.

"Good morning Mister Bilbo!"

"Good morning Hamfast!" Bilbo greeted, shifting his basket to one hand so he could wave up at his friend, who was perched atop of the petal of a blooming summer flower, feet dangling over the edge, wings lazily fluttering.

Bilbo gives his friend another wave before continuing on his path home, humming a merry tone as he did.

The Shire was happy today.

"Oh dear, not again" Bilbo suddenly huff, wings fluttering.

Placing his basket on the ground Bilbo flies over quickly to four rabbit kits nibbling on the Daffodil bulbs that grew on the side of his home.

"No, no, no" Bilbo scolds, shooing them away from the plants, "you cannot eat those, you'll get sick"

The four kits surround him and nudge him eagerly, Bilbo gave a small smile as he pet one of their heads, "where is your mother?" he then inquired.

The answer he gets is excited chatter that was more baby talk than anything else and not much help at all, with a sigh that was more fond then annoyed, Bilbo herd the four bunnies to a patch of clovers, with the Kits occupied Bilbo goes back to his basket to place it in the kitchen before gathering some herbs that would flush out whatever bulbs the four had eaten. He goes back to the patch and gives them the herbs, once the four had eaten the herbs and resumed they're eating of the clovers, Bilbo began his next task.

With twitching ears, Bilbo close his eyes, the Shire's energy as usual tickled his feet. With ease he allowed the energy to merge with his, when he opened his eyes, they are the eyes of the Shire, or the Sight as the Hobbits call it. Bilbo is sure he will never get use to how everything becomes brighter when using the Sight, how he could see, feel, and hear all from the gently falling trees of Eastfarthing woods, the gossiping wives, to the hustle and bustle of Bree. No, he never gets used to being one with the Shire.

He found the mother near the old mill, searching for her kits, coming out of the Sight Bilbo quickly herd the four toward the mill. They met the mother halfway, once the mother finished scolding her kits for wondering off and thanking Bilbo, the family hop away. Bilbo watched them go before heading home to Bag End.

After second breakfast, Bilbo once again left his home, he paused to take in his little Hobbit home. Bag End had been built underneath Bag End hill, which gave his home its name, his father had built it for his mother as a courting gift, it was a large Hobbit Hole filled with many rooms and halls. Much of his childhood was spent exploring the halls, his laughter and giggles echoing.

Ignoring the way his heart painfully clenched and his eyes started to sting, Bilbo made his way up, up, up, Bag End hill until he got to the top, he landed next to a bed of sprouting seedlings, he smile at the sight. The damp soil told him that Hamfast had come by earlier to water them. He kneeled down and caresses on of the sprouts, he giggle when his fingers tingles with contentment. Pleased, he finished the rest of his route, once done he'll head out to the fields to help with the damage a summer storm had done, he'll break for elevensies with his fellow Hobbits who will also be out in the field healing. Then back to work, finishing just in time for luncheon then its back to Bag End Hill for a smoke followed by afternoon tea, then more chores, dinner and supper.

Such is the life of a Hobbit in Hobbiton.