Post by Narika Azrubel on Apr 3, 2007 12:26:47 GMT -5
Amberlie Brandybuck looked at the young hobbit lads and lasses who had gathered by the fireplace in the Floating Log Inn in Frogmorton. The minstrel recognized a few of the Fuzzyfutt family among them. She smiled, deciding upon a story to tell them.
“This tale begins and ends as all good tales should – with hobbits,” she said, glancing around to meet their expectant gazes. “Now who here knows Zhongo Fuzzyfutt and his sister Zhinga?”
A dozen small hands reached into the air, each trying to rise higher than those around them. Amberlie nodded.
“Very good. Well I will tell you the tale of how they came to be nicknamed the Pillagers of Pipeweed.
One day many seasons ago, when Zhongo and Zhinga were about your age, they were traveling through Tookland near Tuckborough. Their parents had asked them to pick up some fresh fruits and vegetables from the farmer’s markets. They didn’t trust Zhinga to go alone, nor did they trust her to wait patiently at home while Zhongo went, and so they went together.
It was a grand late summer day, and the sounds of harvest were heard throughout the farmlands. Zhinga had not often been to that part of the Shire, and she was all eyes and ears full of curiosity. Zhongo kept a close eye on her, as he had learned to do.
Their path took them past Longo Burrows’ farm. Now that was one hobbit who was well known for his pipeweed, and the fellow took great pride in it. Still does, I think. Zhongo and Zhinga came across a cart packed full of recently harvested pipeweed. Zhongo kept on walking but he didn’t realize that his sister had stopped to stare at it.
Maybe a minute goes by, when Zhongo turned and figured out that Zhinga is no where to be seen. He looked about, and then several yards away he saw his sister stuffing her pockets with pipeweed! The boy was stunned and not sure what to do.
Meanwhile out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Longo moving to the cart. He knew if he didn’t do something, Zhinga would be caught and then they’d be in for a world of trouble! So he dropped behind a row of bushes and started calling out like an injured chicken.
Longo stopped and looked over to where the noise is coming from. “What on middle earth is that racket?” he grumbled, walking towards the bushes. He did not see Zhinga, who was busily dumping the pilfered pipeweed out of her pockets. The lass backed away from the cart and took off running down the hill. Seeing that his sister had escaped, Zhongo made sure Longo didn’t see him before he too ran off.
The siblings met up again on the main roadway, both breathing hard. Zhinga burst out laughing, and held up one pipeweed plant that she had kept. “We’re the pillagers of pipeweed, Zhongo!”
Her brother frowned, but her grin was infectious and he cuffed her on the arm. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get to Tuckborough before you get me into more misadventures.”
They told the story to all of their friends upon returning to Frogmorton. Zhongo proudly performed his injured chicken imitation for all who cared to hear it. Soon enough, the two of them were nicknamed as the Pillagers of Pipeweed, and that is a name they carry with them to this day.”
The young hobbits smiled, for they had enjoyed the story.
“But Miss Amberlie,” one young lad piped up. “Don’t you worry yourself about being called a Pillager of Pipeweed?”
The minstrel laughed and shrugged. “It is but a small price to pay, to adventure with my friends.” She pulled a red pipe out of her coat pocket and lifted it up. “Besides, I prefer to grow my own pipeweed over in Buckland… and there’s nothing worth stealing that’s better than my own!”
“This tale begins and ends as all good tales should – with hobbits,” she said, glancing around to meet their expectant gazes. “Now who here knows Zhongo Fuzzyfutt and his sister Zhinga?”
A dozen small hands reached into the air, each trying to rise higher than those around them. Amberlie nodded.
“Very good. Well I will tell you the tale of how they came to be nicknamed the Pillagers of Pipeweed.
One day many seasons ago, when Zhongo and Zhinga were about your age, they were traveling through Tookland near Tuckborough. Their parents had asked them to pick up some fresh fruits and vegetables from the farmer’s markets. They didn’t trust Zhinga to go alone, nor did they trust her to wait patiently at home while Zhongo went, and so they went together.
It was a grand late summer day, and the sounds of harvest were heard throughout the farmlands. Zhinga had not often been to that part of the Shire, and she was all eyes and ears full of curiosity. Zhongo kept a close eye on her, as he had learned to do.
Their path took them past Longo Burrows’ farm. Now that was one hobbit who was well known for his pipeweed, and the fellow took great pride in it. Still does, I think. Zhongo and Zhinga came across a cart packed full of recently harvested pipeweed. Zhongo kept on walking but he didn’t realize that his sister had stopped to stare at it.
Maybe a minute goes by, when Zhongo turned and figured out that Zhinga is no where to be seen. He looked about, and then several yards away he saw his sister stuffing her pockets with pipeweed! The boy was stunned and not sure what to do.
Meanwhile out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Longo moving to the cart. He knew if he didn’t do something, Zhinga would be caught and then they’d be in for a world of trouble! So he dropped behind a row of bushes and started calling out like an injured chicken.
Longo stopped and looked over to where the noise is coming from. “What on middle earth is that racket?” he grumbled, walking towards the bushes. He did not see Zhinga, who was busily dumping the pilfered pipeweed out of her pockets. The lass backed away from the cart and took off running down the hill. Seeing that his sister had escaped, Zhongo made sure Longo didn’t see him before he too ran off.
The siblings met up again on the main roadway, both breathing hard. Zhinga burst out laughing, and held up one pipeweed plant that she had kept. “We’re the pillagers of pipeweed, Zhongo!”
Her brother frowned, but her grin was infectious and he cuffed her on the arm. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get to Tuckborough before you get me into more misadventures.”
They told the story to all of their friends upon returning to Frogmorton. Zhongo proudly performed his injured chicken imitation for all who cared to hear it. Soon enough, the two of them were nicknamed as the Pillagers of Pipeweed, and that is a name they carry with them to this day.”
The young hobbits smiled, for they had enjoyed the story.
“But Miss Amberlie,” one young lad piped up. “Don’t you worry yourself about being called a Pillager of Pipeweed?”
The minstrel laughed and shrugged. “It is but a small price to pay, to adventure with my friends.” She pulled a red pipe out of her coat pocket and lifted it up. “Besides, I prefer to grow my own pipeweed over in Buckland… and there’s nothing worth stealing that’s better than my own!”
