A Pony's Journey

Marlo Hayes

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Chapter 1: Leaving

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'I don't like this place,' my lips curled back and gave a soft whinny to the hobbit in front of me. He turned back and smiled at me; at that I snorted and nudged his shoulder. He was the best thing to ever happen to me. The hobbit laughed and began to pet my snout. The others in front of him stopped to see what was going on.

Letting my worries go, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the petting from my new master. He was quite short, sandy haired, and hairy feet. Their were others with us and I had heard them call him "Sam" plenty of times. Whenever this name was spoken, he would answer. So, I too, have taken to calling the hobbit "Sam." At first it was a strange name for me to utter. Various times I stuttered and everyone looked at me rather than just my "Sam." Now that I have been with him for such a long time, the name rolls right off my thick tongue like milk in honey.

'We have to keep moving," the old man from the lead of our small group cried back to "Sam" and I. Giving a nod, my hobbit friend stopped stroking my face and started to move forward. Not wanting to be left behind, I followed right away. My hooves squished and sludged as we traveled along the side of a lake.

Now, I suppose I shall describe my companions. There was my hobbit, my "Sam", and three of his companions (They too being Halflings): one was younger than the rest and called "Pippin" or "Pip." Another one seemed a bit older than "Pippin", but not by many years. His hair was much like my own hobbit's and he was called "Merry". The last is the oldest (he is the reason we are out here in this dreaded swamp) and he is named "Frodo" or (by my "Sam") "Master/Mister Frodo". I do not mind any of them too much. After all, they are friends of "Sam" and helped me escape from the crooked man that once owned me.

That makes five of us, but in actuality there is nine! I will tell of each of them before continuing with my adventure away from "Sam". Next (due to his height) I will mention a most strange creature. He smells of pipe weed and ale (not a pleasant combination). Red hair forms a beard that is twisted into two braids and has a bit extra hanging. He is only a bit taller than my hobbit and grumbles ever so much. I have heard him be addressed as "Gimli" or "Master Dwarf". "Gimli" carries an axe on him and is ever bickering with the next companion I will describe.

Besides my "Sam" there is one being I like the most. A tall, fair being (he is the only that does not smell of pipeweed but more like strawberries and honey). His ears are like mine (pointed), but his hair is not; long, plated, gold hair flows down his back with two warrior braids in the front. Often he has proved a comfort to me and my "Sam". He usually stands alert and tense with his blue eyes scanning the area. Now, I have heard him be called many names (especially by "Gimli"). There is "Elf," "Pointy-eared", and some dwarvish I cannot understand. One name is most common with the other travelers however: "Legolas". So, I will call him that. "Gimli" often bickers with "Legolas" and it makes no sense to me why. The two always through insults out at each other, usually causing my "Sam" to stay even closer to me. I do not know why, but I think my hobbit feels a true fight may break out sometime. Even now in this horrid place, their stares and words argue with each other.

There is one that usually stops these fights though (because he seems to be a long-time friend of "Legolas"). He does this by distracting the elf in someway or another. Usually it is by stating something in the tongue I heard used by other elves in Rivendell. This man has a rugged look to him and long locks of brown hair. His eyes are most puzzling to me, for they are grey. I liked this man (not as much as my hobbit or the elf though) he was kind and had a sense of leadership around him. Since the time he had bought me in Bree, he had been called by two names: "Strider" and "Aragorn". Occasionally "Sam" will call him "Strider" instead of "Aragorn" like the others. So, to be like my little hobbit, I will name him "Strider" as well.

Beside this one man, there is another. He is as tall as "Strider" but has a lighter disposition to him. His build is a bit heavier as well (which could be because of his heavy cloak) and spends much time with the hobbits "Merry" and "Pippin". Many a day I have watched him swordplay with them. In my opinion, they are quite good. Of course, I am but a pony and my opinion only matters to others of my kin. "Boromir" is the name bestowed upon this man. He carries it with pride (a little too much) and he is a Gondorians. A large shield is constantly at his side. Still, something about this man keeps me on alert. He stares usually at the hobbit "Frodo" with fevering eyes.

This brings us to the last member of the group. To me he is a cranky old man who is very willful and has finally lost his way, so he just decided to join our small company. His hair is white, his cloths blue, his hat pointy, and his back bent. A walking stick is held in one hand and he grumbles constantly about faults he has found in the hobbit "Pippin". Whenever that young one gets into trouble, it is "Fool of a Took!" spitting out of the old one's mouth. He smells a bit more pleasant than the dwarf, for only pipeweed stains his person. Even though he is old and cranky, the rest look up to him as a leader. Indeed! That would be like a group of young stallions of the finest kind following an old mule around, Valar only knows where! Still, they have chosen him to lead and I shall not express my doubts out loud. Certainly my "Sam" looks up to this "Gandalf".

Well, that just about tells of all my companions. Each one is different in their own way (besides looks) and as far as I can tell, each soul is good. Especially my hobbit's soul.

Now, we stand on the edge of a lake. Mud is all that we find around the edge. For several hours we have been walking through this grime and I do wish to hit solid ground. Unfortunately, there seems to be only mud and water. We are heading for the other side of the lake and by the look of it there is some stable ground there. Maybe by nightfall I can rest my weary limbs and enjoy some sugar cubes I can smell in "Sam's" pocket.

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His words made no sense to me. Again and again he would speak in that strange elvish speech. "Gandalf's" walking stick was placed up against a symbol that had appeared on the wall and the others were watching him closely. The old man sputtered various phrases and grew angry as each one proved futile. Once, "Pippin" commented on the situation and was rewarded with a threat to be used to open the gates themselves. That piped the young one up for a bit.

Now I too grew bored and exasperated as the old man was once again unsuccessful. "Sam" kept petting me and talking into my ears. I would snort to let him know I was listening, sometimes nudging his shoulder and receiving a sugar cube. As nothing more happened, my "Sam" began to get very solemn. He talked to me in a softer tone and completely emptied his pocket of treats for me. Even a large apple had been hidden away all this time and was now in my stomach.

I could something was wrong with the hobbit, but I could not understand what. Maybe he felt that something bad was about to happen? It did not matter, only that my "Sam" was troubled. Trying to comfort him I would placed my head against his and just stared into his eyes. My sudden motion was a surprise to the hobbit and he just stared back at me. Finally he parted his head and smiled (how I missed that smile, even if it was just a short while) then ran his fingers through the part of my mane hanging over my eyes. Shaking it a bit he let go of my lead rope.

All the while, the man known as "Strider" had been watching the two of us. With a small smile (more of sympathy than anything else) the man came over to us. He placed a hand on my hobbit's shoulder. I greeted him with a 'How do you do?' The ranger merely gave a small chuckle and patted my neck. Then he moved beside me and a great weight was lifted from my hindquarters. Having the traveling packs come off was a great blessing and I did a small kick once the man was out of the way. Both "Strider" and "Sam" laughed at my display of joy.

Then the two conversed amongst each other. It was just a few words: 'We have to let him go, the mines are no place for a pony.' "Strider" spoke.

'I know. I will miss him.'

'As I am sure he will miss you.' Then the man took my halter away. As the bit slid from my mouth I opened it up and licked around my lips. It was strange no longer having any of the gear on.

Not at first understanding what they were talking about, I merely stood there and looked at the two of them. Then a tear came to my "Sam's" eye. He reached out a small hand and stroked my neck (it would be the last time he did that for many a year) then stood back. "Strider" took a hold of a part of my mane and gently turned me around. He urged me on with a quick pat on the backside. At first I only took a few steps and looked back.

A sudden feeling of heartbreak hit me. "Sam" was holding back a dam of tears as he stared at me (several feet away). I whinnied, begging him to tell me what was wrong. Instead, the hobbit wiped his face with his sleeve as the tears finally came. In a sobbing voice, my hobbit spoke to me one more time, 'Goodbye Bill.' Then I knew what he wanted me to do. With a small whinny for my own "Goodbye" I trotted up the small incline and out of sight.

"Strider" and "Sam" waved after me and then turned back to the rest of the company. Only once did I turn back to see my hobbit sitting down on a rock. In his hand was my halter. With a small shudder through his body, he let it drop to ground. Finally I accepted that I had to go away from the company, my heart was breaking with each step I took away from the hobbit.

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So, did you like it? It's not over. This story is going to be all the adventures of Bill the Pony after he left the fellowship. Please review. If I don't have enough reviews then the story will be deleted.

Your author,

Marlo