After Drakoe left Tighfield to seek “adventure and fortune” with our cousins after his 33rd Birthday, things got increasingly dull around home. Even teasing the neighbor’s cat wasn’t fun any more without Draks. So after my daily regiment of ropeweaving and other ropeyard activities, I took to wandering the White Downs north of Tighfield, awaking dormant Stoor and Fallohide blood in me. I learned how to swim, use a bow, and generally… how to adventure and enjoy it. Through the skills I learned, I also explored forgotten caves and lost gardens, and discovered things unknown. But, the most important thing that happened in that spring and summer was none of those things, but it was the friendship I forged.
It was an ordinary day in the early summer, the roses and water lilies were in bloom and I was walking near the Stony Brook (the river) collecting some of the lilies for mumsy. I had just gathered a nice bunch when I heard a cry for help. I jumped up from where I was kneeling by the river and found that the cry came from a patch of roses and I dropped the lilies and ran. An old hobbitess had fallen among the brambles and couldn’t get up… the thorns had pierced her skin in several places. I yelled to her and pulled the dagger me Da had given me from its sheath hidden under my trousers and cut her free before gently lifting her away from the roses.
She said her name was Peria -on reflection now, it makes more sense- perian is what some elves call hobbits, and with the things she knew… well lets just say that she must have spent a lot of time with them. She saw things the way the elves did, and it was nothing short of magic. She was a gypsy, a wandering Fallohide, of the group that made their home deep in the wild. She never did tell me what she was doing in South Farthing so far away from her home, but I think, or I would like to believe that she was trying to make one last visit to the elves.
After her fall she was in no shape to continue traveling, and though I offered, she refused to come home with me, the planes, wilderness was her home, it was part of her magic. So I helped her set up camp at one of the abandoned caves, and visited her daily for weeks, we soon became fast friends, she tried to teach me her magic, I brought her flowers, good food and conversation. Then one day when I brought her some brilliant pink roses a tear came to her eye and she smiled at me as best she could with the sadness in her eyes. It didn’t sink in until I came back the next day and she was gone, with no trace except the small leather bag I had seen her have out so many times before and a note. The note… is for me alone but inside the bag were a set of stones of divining and when I touched them I knew what they were, and how to use them… they are the Gift of the Gypsy, the Magic Divining stones, and the gate that allows me to see the world how she saw it. So until next time, try looking at your world in the eyes of another, let your heritage take you on a trip, and UP THE SHIRE.