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He wiggled his body back and forth in effort to swing himself to the caravan. It took a while for a small hobbit to gain momentum, but he was getting closer with each sway. The winds grew heavy once more and thunder joined them. But Jabit was determined to grab one of the arrows no matter the weather. The tree branch above creaked as he swung to and fro. The rain began to pick up as his efforts drove him closer to the caravan.

Grunting with every push Jabit soon became frustrated. He cursed his small size, being a hobbit had no advantage in such a situation. He stretched his arms to their furthest extent but they were still not long enough. The storm was greater than before, lightning lit up the sky and intense rain made it hard to keep his eyes open. But he didn’t give in to the elements, he needed to reach one of the arrows. If he didn’t he would never get home and he would end up becoming bait for these warriors to catch another wild hog. If he didn’t break free he would never see his mother again.


He shouted as he drew closer to the caravan wall. The rain forced his eyes shut as he stretched his small arms once more. He closed his hands and felt the wooden shaft of an arrow in his grip. His momentum caused it to be plucked from the caravan. He opened his eyes and saw he was lucky the broad head was still attached. Wasting no time and with all of his strength he lifted himself up and grabbed the rope tied to his feet. The arrowhead sawed through the rope slowly, Jabit laughed as his plan unfolded.

With one final strike the rope was cut and Jabit crashed to the muddy soil below. He picked himself up and looked at the camp in front of him. To his surprise one of the warriors was up and leaving his tent. He must have heard Jabit after all, but the hobbit was quick, and by the time the man reached the rope trap he was too late. Jabit hid himself in the caravan away from the man and the vicious storm outside.

“Where are you!” Yelled the warrior as he drew his blade from its sheath.

Jabit looked in his hand where the arrow remained, he hoped he didn’t have to use it. Studying the inside of the caravan he had a strange feeling of nostalgia. The shelves were filled with jars and beside him were barrels fitted with spigots just like those he held his mother's jams in. As he crept toward them the floorboards creaked.

The man approached the caravan slowly, the rain poured down the fuller of his blade and dripped to the ground splashing in the mud below. In one quick motion he wrenched the door open. Jabit jumped at the site of the man, causing one of the floorboards to snap.

The End

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