claudia603 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
claudia603) wrote2006-07-20 10:54 pm
claudia603) wrote2006-07-20 10:54 pm
(no subject)
Expect random gifts in coming days... Today is a double drabble for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sophinisba!
As a young lad, Frodo went on a picnic in a Buckland field with his mother and father. The sun cast dazzling gold over cornflowers and poppies. Mother’s teasing laughter as she swatted Father with a tea towel bubbled like the nearby brook that trickled over mossy rocks. Frodo spent the day frolicking about the field, picking cornflowers for his mother, and basking in love, life, and warmth.
When next he returned to stand forlornly in the field, frost seeped over the dead grass, the flowers had wilted, and clouds covered the sun. Two months earlier his parents had been pulled from the river.
On a wet October night, as Frodo, Gandalf, and the younger hobbits entered the Prancing Pony, Frodo’s heart sank with that same forlornness, that unease that perhaps while he had trekked to Mordor and back that his corner of the world, like a field of wildflowers bathed in sunlight, had fallen into shadow. The Common Room should be loud with laughter and gossip. Ale should flow like the Brandywine. None of this quiet dread.
But Frodo said nothing. For a few moments longer, he wanted to believe that this corner of the world remained in sunlight.
sophinisba!As a young lad, Frodo went on a picnic in a Buckland field with his mother and father. The sun cast dazzling gold over cornflowers and poppies. Mother’s teasing laughter as she swatted Father with a tea towel bubbled like the nearby brook that trickled over mossy rocks. Frodo spent the day frolicking about the field, picking cornflowers for his mother, and basking in love, life, and warmth.
When next he returned to stand forlornly in the field, frost seeped over the dead grass, the flowers had wilted, and clouds covered the sun. Two months earlier his parents had been pulled from the river.
On a wet October night, as Frodo, Gandalf, and the younger hobbits entered the Prancing Pony, Frodo’s heart sank with that same forlornness, that unease that perhaps while he had trekked to Mordor and back that his corner of the world, like a field of wildflowers bathed in sunlight, had fallen into shadow. The Common Room should be loud with laughter and gossip. Ale should flow like the Brandywine. None of this quiet dread.
But Frodo said nothing. For a few moments longer, he wanted to believe that this corner of the world remained in sunlight.