The Hobbit - An Unexpected Journey Edition (IN EDITING)

1. An Adventure

Edited

The thin ring of smoke was slowly seeking, gliding itself through the windless air, up against the sky. It was as if it joined the rest of the light white and fluffy clouds that were, although, few in the blue, clear sky. It was pretty strange how it could seem that way, though the little ring of smoke still was so very close to his garden with the colourful flowers, the freshly cut grass, and the smell of it; the bushes that were shuffled with different kind of flowers, mixing the beautiful, comfortable scent of home out into the wind, rolling up his nostrils. He had always rather enjoyed and admired his smoke rings as if they were one of a kind, special indeed and no one else could do it the way that he did them.

But in the pleasant solitude in the garden something disturbed the young Hobbit, sitting there on his bench - peaceful; the narrow ring that he had made out of the smoke from his long wooden pipe flowing down into the ground now came right back at him, and no matter how strange it might sound, it came up as a little pinching on his nose and surrounded his face like a cloud of choking smoke.

The Hobbit had closed his eyes to the sunlight, and was therefore not mentally present to witness this unnatural event. The Hobbit coughed away the smoke, and he could suddenly feel a careful wind blow his way. The same kind of careful wind that appeared when someone had arrived or passing the Hobbit by and it was no different this time.

The slight wind washing over his visible skin made him open his deep brown eyes to the light that were no longer there. Apparently someone had covered it up. It made him flinch to the quite old and incredibly tall man that was now standing in front of him outside his gate which surrounded his garden. The man would have no problem what so ever to simply just step over the gate if he so desired. He wore a thick and - what it seemed like to be - a pretty oversized cloak that were hanging like curtains over his body, and as accessory he wore a big grey hat with a high topping, sitting far up on his head and made him look far taller than what he really was. The tip of the hat hung over a little at the edge and in the man’s hand he was holding a tall wooden staff, which was almost taller than the man himself. He was smiling through his thick beard that was covering most of his face and which also stretched far down his cloak.

He had been standing there a good while now. The young Hobbit wasn’t quite sure of what to do, as he felt something strange rise inside of him. For a moment it felt like nervosity, or something that made him uncertain of what to say or do. The man outside the gate didn’t seem to mind the Hobbit taking his time.

The Hobbit twisted to the side of the bench and moved the tip of his pipe around a little against his lips as his forehead frowned, until his gaze eventually turned up to face the old and very tall man.

“Good morning”, the Hobbit spoke out with confidence.

“What do you mean?” the old man asked.

The Hobbit did not understand, but this emotion did not paint onto his calm face. The old man’s voice was husky and dark, yet calm, understanding and friendly. Quite pleasant to listen to, he thought.  

The young Hobbit’s face was still a big frown and he did not know what to say further. He kept a steady hold around the head of his pipe and carefully looked around. He tried not to make it too obvious that he was extremely uncomfortable with the situation. He took a deep whiff from the narrow pipe end and inhaled the smoke.

“Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not?” He kept speaking in riddles that the Hobbit did not yet understand. He tried to follow in his low tone and his quick words. It wasn’t simple. The Hobbit cocked his head to the side, confused he was. “Or perhaps you mean that you feel good on this particular morning? Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?”