It’s winter for middle earth. A white blanket of newly fallen snow decorated the landscape. Many homes were filled with gaieties and laughter. But the story does not begin by home or hearth. It begins many miles away from any sign of life.
Think far away to where there is no life. Imagine yourself sailing over white field after white field. Not even a mouse can survive this far away from civilization in a cold like this. Suddenly, you see the snow shift. Someone, or something, is buried under the snow! But how could anything survive in the cold this far away from civilization? Who is he and how did he get there? The biggest question is probably why. Why is he there? I’ll tell you. Soon you’ll know the answer to all these questions. But in due time, readers, in due time.
The first thing he realized was the extreme cold. The second thing was pain. Even in near shock he could feel that his radius was broken. Everything was a blur. All he knew was pain and the hunger he felt. The hobbit struggled to remember what had happened to him but recalled nothing. He slowly pulled himself out of the snow and opened his eyes to see where he was. He closed them again instantly as the light was too much. Gradually getting used to the light, the hobbit opened his eyes and tried to see where he was, but there was nothing but snow. No, there was one other thing he saw besides snow. He saw blood. The snow was stained red with it. The hobbit sniffed it. It was fresh.
“But whose blood is it?” he thought. “Mine or whoever put me here’s? Who was it?” Then with horror he realized not only did he not know who the assailant was ,he did not know who he was.
“Who put me here?” he demanded. But there was no one to answer.”Where am I?” He rose and looked up to the white winter sky as if waiting for a response. He knew that he would get no answer but he thought that somehow, someone was listening.
“Who am I?” he whispered quietly. Then in frustration he screamed into the empty fields “Who am I??” His voice echoed returns. And then there was only silence. Then, (in stress, fear, frustration, or hunger, whatever the reason) he fainted.
The hobbit awoke after about an hour. His arm stung dreadfully but he tried to stand despite his agony. He noticed behind him that there was a backpack he hadn’t noticed before. The hobbit climbed to it and searched through desperately for some kind of food. He found some cheese, bread and nuts. After eating just enough to barely satisfy his hunger, he sorted the food to be rationed. He observed that the bread was of an elvish making. Ever since the elves had left middle earth, elvish things were rare, but elven food the rarest of anything. The nuts and cheese too, could last several months.
“Whoever put me here,” he thought, “Meant for me to be here a long time. He never expected me to get back. But he wanted me to live clearly.” He decided to see if there was anything else in the bag. Some cloth was there, a knife and some flint. He dug further. There was a peice of paper with one word on it: ‘north.’
The hobbit looked north. Nothing but fields for at least 50 miles. Not even a tree. He looked south. A dark, dense, forest. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before. Probably filled with dangerous creatures and poisonous plants. He looked at the paper again. He gathered up his things and headed in the only logical direction: south. With no identity he entered the deep forests. He did not know what he was to become.
Or what would become of him.