Live Journal FeedThis one is actually a double drabble... Four bits at 50 words each makes 200. I just couldn't leave anybody out
Gnarled hands trembling in the morning's chill, the Gaffer picked up the heavy hoe and looked east to the rising Sun, missing his youngest son's quiet strength. He paused before the garden gate, half hoping to hear Sam's soft hum as he started his day's work. The silence was deafening.
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The hobbits that luncheoned at Great Smials never looked to the high table, to the empty chair at the Thain's right. He had ordered no place set since his son had disappeared and the Mistress refused to seat any other there. His grief warred with her hope each day.
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Every sunset, Saradoc Brandybuck walked away from the glad songs in the Hall to the orchard where Merry's touch could still be seen at his favored task. The absence of his son's clear voice made the music bitter, so he came among the trees and looked to the dark eastern sky.
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No candle burned in the window under the Hill, no one looked east in hope at Bag End, except perhaps the house itself. For, while its new owners occupied its physical space, the dwelling was void of its spirit and heart, and would be until its master returned once more.
