Rocking back in his chair, the old man felt a great weight leave his shoulders. It had finally been done; the book was held by the last heir of Wisebeards. What concerned him now was what life had in store for the destined hobbit. He didn’t yet know the truth about his surname, but his grandfather knew it was something only he could figure out. Balamor shoved the book into his pack, thinking deeply about its purpose. He knew it was far more incredible than its size made it out to be. Hopefully his journey would provide him with the answers to unlock the secrets of the runes.
Balamor suddenly realized he never got what he came for in the first place as he glanced at his grandfather. Looking down at his hand, he grasped the square stone rune, a triangle of three dots carved into its surface. Hoping Farjadis might know more about it, he lifted his head quickly, “But what of this rune? How will it help me on my journey to the Mog Brush?”
The old man leaned over to him; his gray beard shrouded the smirk on his face.
“It will guide the way when you need protection.”
The sun towered high above the Raehl now, and the work on the village seemed nearly complete. Balamor and his grandfather sat in silence for a moment before a deep voice yelled out,
“Balamor! Hiding with your grandfather I see!”
The stout figure of Barris Oakfoot was strolling down the dirt path towards the porch. Farjadis glanced over at him before returning to the young hobbit who was studying the rune.
Before the chance was gone he grabbed his attention.
“You must leave tonight!”
Balamor replied with a sharp look into his grandfather’s eyes, no more words were spoken as he stuffed the map and the rune into his pack. Standing to his feet he marched down the porch stairs, saying goodbye to his grandfather. He walked the path until he met Barris who turned away from the house and headed to their own.
The summer sun beat down on their backs as their furry feet thudded the earth below. His father observed without a word said. He watched the young Balamor walking in small strides beside him. His lithe figure partially revealed as gusts of wind splashed against his robes. He wasn’t as sturdy as Barris had hoped, especially if his son were to take up woodworking.