The old Wisebeard stood to his feet as his final words still lingered through the air. The both of them discussed this plan in the past when Balamor was only a child, but back then the chance of it actually happening seemed almost impossible.
Without anymore discussion the two of them made their way into the cold Wisebeard library. The stillness of the dusty air was broken by the shuffling of their feet. They split up, each taking an isle and filling their arms with as many of the untitled books as they could.
Barris held one of the strange books in his hand, flipping through its blank pages. He didn't take the time to read the books from the library besides a few on cooking. He knew they were there but he felt they weren't meant for hobbits. Holding something so powerful nearly overwhelmed him with fear. He convinced himself that power as great as magic was simply myth. Magic was nonexistent to him, but he made it that way.
Book by book his anticipation grew, he wanted to just up and leave but something inside him fought against him. His arms grew heavy before he made his way upstairs and outside to his small caravan which was parked beside the porch. He slid the books up into the back through a thin cloth door, making sure they were secure.
Quickly he walked to the stables across the town which was nearly asleep. the stables were nearly filled, most of the ponies still awake. He began to pet them on their heads, hoping to not rustle them and wake the keepers sleeping in the hole next door. He made his decision with haste, a white and brown pony who seemed to be experienced as far as Barris could tell. He guided it from the stables quietly as he searched around in suspicion. Within minutes the brown spotted pony was fitted with the caravan and the sturdy carpenter was back to the library to gather the remaining luggage.
Nearly three hours passed before the last of the books found their way into the small caravan, along with a weeks worth of food and supplies. Barris decided to himself that he would travel north to the small hobbit village of Mesmir. There he would wait until news arrived from the Mystic Gantis, or Balamor if he was back by then.
The two hobbits exchanged their goodbyes mostly in silence, the situation had them both in a quiet mood. Nonetheless they were both determined — focused on their task. Farjadis stood at the front of his old house watching his son in-law depart his only known home.
The rain began to spot the ground when the old Wisebeard slipped the glass vial from his vest pocket. His fingers pressed against the symbol etched into its surface as he whispered to himself,
The strange liquid inside suddenly became cold, slightly numbing his palm. He watched as the green glow intensified at the sound of the ancient word before calming back to its original state. Farjadis slowly unlatched the metal capping, it’s cool breath escaping like an eerie spirit. Time stood still as he thought about his grandson, his memory gripped the old man as he drank the potion.