Savin' me

Frodo Silvertongue · 04-06-2012, 06:52 PM

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Sorry it's so long >.< wc; 702

Frodo sat in the middle of a field, his knees pulled inwards, arms hugging them as he almost rocked back and forth. The gentle swaying had him quite dizzy, but he just could not get comfortable. And so he outstretched his legs in the slightest, cracked his arms into a more suitable posture, and continued to sit, and watch. His horse galloped around the field aimlessly, hoping Frodo - and possibly some grazing mares - were taking an interest. The stallion really was a show off. Frodo tried his best to watch, as to not hurt Strider's feelings, but to be honest it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. Still, it was amusing, the and the young man found himself chuckling as Strider cantered dangerously close, sending the grassy turf upwards in a mess of dirt and mud. Frodo carried on laughing until the horse had passed, and then he realised he was covered in mud, from head to toe. The man winced, scratching a clawed hand through his golden locks before standing up, a bit wobbly but none the less able.

Mr Silvertongue sent his horse a farewell in low speech, raised his hand, and then mosied on out, cloak flying out behind him. Firstly he walked to his hut, to strip himself of cloak and shirt; but he kept his chain-ringed necklace and green neckerchief for safe keeping. They were too, splattered with mud, but they were important and valuable keepsakes from home, perhaps the only thing he had left from home. Apart from his bow. His bow... Frodo had left it in the hut while he'd gone to keep watch on Strider. The man bit his lip and fell to his knees, scrambling around on the floor until his hand closed around firm wood. His sheath of arrows was where it always was; hanging up on the side of the hut, but he'd been oiling his bow last night and had completely forgot about putting it back in his place.

With his most prized weapon safely in his hand, Frodo stood up. His hut was very small, with such a low ceiling that perhaps if Frodo was a foot taller, he'd have banged his head on it. Alas, Frodo was a midget, and he preferred it that way. The mixed-bred wolf was just exiting his den, bow and arrows on his shoulders, when he called the cry. It was a howl, not a howl of claiming territory or warning away strangers; a plee for help. Aghast, Frodo perked his ears to the sound and immediately set off at a run. He would perhaps have been quicker in secui, but he was most lethal with his bow, and he didn't fancy leaving it behind. Whatever trouble his pack-member was in, it sounded like he'd need to be lethal.

When he finally came upon the scene, all he saw was a large cougar with its paws on something. With a jolt, Frodo realised the cougar probably had its paws on the victim that had called for help. Frodo had half a mind to shoot it then and there, but he knew if it died on Luna she might as well die herself too; it would collapse and its weight could finish her. And so he knocked an arrow in place, stalked to the side of the animal rather than the back, and let loose the arrow. He was about 20 meters away, out of sight, and out of mind. The shot was quite far, but with his precise aim, it went into the target easily. The cougar was shot in the neck, and it rolled to the right, away from Luna rather than a top of her. Frodo was still wary that the creature could still be alive, but as it seemed not to be moving, he quickly jogged up to his pack-sister. He wanted to hold out a hand to drag her up, but she was in lupus, so he crouched and tried to help her up with both hands instead. Are ye ok? I heard yer call, I was er, Wellington worried, right? I thought you mighta hopped off already. he gushed, intense green eyes clear with doubt and worry.

Frodo Silvertongue

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