The North Moors

 

"So what's the news from Overhill?" Sam asked as his cousin Hal dropped onto a bench outside the Green Dragon. Sam was leaving and Hal was arriving.

Hal looked at Sam and shook his head. "I don't rightly know no more." Hal had a queer look on his face, almost like he had seen a ghost.

Hal took out his pipe; his hand shook as he lit it. "I think I saw a Tree-man tonight."

Sam straightened, a tingle prickling down his spine. Those old stories about elves and tree-men and oliphants always grabbed him hard.

"Alright," Sam said, sitting next to him. "Tell me." The cobbled lane was empty, and a few noisy patrons inside had started a song about "A pipe and same ale to keep yerself well..."

"Ya see, I was out hunting grouse, out on the North Moors beyond Old Boffin's place." Hal patted the leather sling looped around his belt. "And I got the strangest feeling, like I was being watched."

Sam shivered. He was already hooked by the story, and his imagination was afire.

"I looked around, and I noticed an elm tree right out in the middle of the moors."

"But there ain't no elm trees up there," Sam said.

"Exactly! So I crouched down and waited."

Here, the story seemed to end. Hal puffed on his pipe, his eyes partly closed. The pub patrons continued their song although a faction had started singing different words.

"Well. What happened?" Sam blurted.

Hal took a deep breath. "The elm just walked away. It was taking five, six yards at a stride. It seemed to move slowly, but with them long legs, it was out of sight in no time."

The pub song ended, and a cool breeze ruffled Sam's hair. But his skin was already prickled with wonderment.

Hal shook his head and sighed. "I'll need an ale or three tonight," he said, rising. "Goodnight, cousin." He clamped his pipe between his teeth and vanished inside.

Sam sat for a while, deep in thought. Something was not quite right in his well-ordered world.






Inspired by the Lord of the Rings saga by JRR Tolkien.
Art and story (c)2022 Mickey Kulp