His hands were bruised and ached in pain, but he began to question if his mother was right. The remains of a hobbit man were finally clear, still wearing the exact clothing Jabit had on himself. His crying became uncontrollable as he lifted the corpse from its grave. He stared into the holes of the small skull, now fully convinced this was him. The corpse broke apart as he turned to his mother.
The sun pierced the clouds shining its bright light onto his grave as he spoke,
“I’m sorry, I don’t know who I am. But I remember being your son and I remember your love. I'm sorry I don’t remember my own death…”
She held her hand out and rubbed it across his face. Looking into his eyes she knew his soul was there. He smiled at her soothing touch,
The dark spell that created him broke, in an instant everything that was living about him crumbled into a mound of earth, filling the pit that was his grave. His mother watched as her son was buried a second time. Her cries echoed the now lonely farm of the Treadfoot home.