Logs-Feeling Faint?

South Row
South Row is perhaps too simple a name for this row of hobbit holes. There are
four holes set back into Bree-hill, above the Stone Houses of the Big Folk
below. Most of the holes have at least a window or two facing west, and one
of the Mugworts (living in Number Two South Row) has four. The path in front
of the Row leads away to the north, and climbs down the hill at its southern
end, toward the Stone Houses.

Obvious exits:
Down leads to Garden.
North leads to Above the Prancing Pony.

================ Bree Time ===========================
Real time: Thu Jan 08 02:30:00 2004
Bree time: Midday <about 12 Noon (lunch time)> on Monday of Winter - February
21,1431
Moon Phase: Full Moon

Breelands Weather
The midday winter air is cold and dry around you. Snow piles on the ground
around your feet.
=================================================

Snow!
This could be an accurate way to describe the weather over Bree as lunchtime
nears and most folks are tucked away safely within (in this case) their
hobbit holes on the South Row. Sheltering outside the door of one of these
holes is a cloaked figure- sheltering herself from the snow as the holes are
set into the hill and thus provide adequet cover from the weather. A basket
sits at her feet, and she stares rather dejectedly out into the white haze-
hands on her upper arms, her back bent just slightly and her teeth chattering
despite the hood, scarf and gloves- all of which have begun to soak through,
perhaps on account of her getting covered on the way here.

Whatever the reason, Megan Tasselberry-Thatcher is certainly looking rather
sad and sorry for herself, as the weather doesn't show any signs of easing up
for some time.

Plod ... Plod ... Plod ... Slithering sounds ... A fit of giggles.

Someone is coming up the hill from the stone houses - or trying at least - and
they can't be very tall, for they're not visible yet over the rise. A little
while longer, and a girlish voice announces aloud, "Ooh, it's so slippery!"
Finally a blue bobble-hat is visible through the haze of snow, making its way
towards the hobbit holes. The hat's owner stoops to pick up a handful of
snow, sights carefully on a white-bedecked bush outside one hobbit-hole and
lets fly. "I'm bored ..." is the mutter that accompanies the snowball.

Brown eyes glance up from their focus on the ground beneath Megan's feet (which
must have been a lot more interesting than it appears to the untrained eye,
for she'd certainly been staring at it for a while before the voice arrived)-
watching, waiting and then- she is covered in a cloud of white from where the
snowball burst through the tree. At this- she lets out a pittiful wail (and
one rather worrisome too, after all- it's just a bit of snow. It's not like
she wasn't already sopping) before going to brush herself off with a frown.
"If you're bored, I'd thank you /not/ to throw snowballs into bushes where
people nearby are sheltering!"

Betsy's mouth opens in a round 'o' of astonishment (yes, of course it's Betsy,
who else?). But she recovers quickly - the 'lessons' she's had from Megan in
the past have been well learnt. "How was I to know there was someone hiding
behind the bushes?" she demands now, young voice suspicious as she trots
closer. "It's a funny place to shelter, isn't it? What were you doing the-
oh, it's Megan!" She beams broadly as the strange skulker is suddenly
identifiable. "Hello Megan!" She stands looking down at the cloaked and
hooded woman - then the smile fades. "Aren't you well?"

At the voice, one tiny and hardly noticible smile creeps its way over Megan's
(ever paling) lips. "I en't hiding. I'm sheltering. That's what I said isn't
it? Sheltering. Don't change my words," the Breegirl says, though she doesn't
snap, and doesn't sound particularly angry, there's something not as much
amusement in her voice as there may be in such situations at different times.
"It's not a funny place to shelter at all, not when I was on my over to the
Healing--" a pause, as she's now greeted, and the smile grows again.
"G'afternoon, Betsy... No, I'm fine. Just cold and.. well, I've been standin'
here for some time now, and it doesn't look like I'll get to go anywhere any
time soon, if this snow keeps up. Speakin' of which, does your Grandda know
you're out in the cold by yourself?"

The last question is answered first. "Granda's by the fire, 'warmin' his ole
bones' or something." Her high-pitched voice drops in a passable imitation of
Hugh's grumbling tones. "He doesn't watch me /all/ the time, you know. And
Mama said I could come out and play as long as I was back within the hour."
She nods firmly, and raises a mittened hand to brush snow away from her
eyebrows.

"Anyway," her head tilts to one side as she surveys the seated Megan, "Why were
you going to the Healing House if you're not ill? You don't look very well,
you know."

A giggle passes between Megan's lips, and seems to explode briefly into a cloud
of mist that so often appears when breathing in the cold. "Ah, I see. Well, I
just thought he mightn't know if you're out here, gettin' covered in snow.
It's mightily cold, if you ask me." But now Megan offers a shrug and pulls
off the hood from her head, using the same hood-pulling hand to wrap the
scarf tighter about her neck.

"'S because Adrian and Mam and Da are visitin' this way and so I had to go up
t' get some herbs and thing for them so they don't get sickly again while
they're here but.. Oh? You don't think so?" Now Megan's eyes widen in
fright.. "Well, now that you meantion it, Betsy.. I en't feelin'.. too.." And
now, she lets out a melodramatic sigh, rolls her eyes up toward the sky and
places a hand on her forehead, before crumpling to the ground, and sitting
with her back up against the door of the hobbit-hole.

"It's not so cold when you're running around," Betsy offers helpfully, watching
the scarf-wrapping with quizzical eyes. She listens to Megan's explanation in
silence - but then when the older girl collapses, she lets out a sudden
high-pitched squeal of fright. "Megan? Megan?" She dashes over to where Megan
now lolls, and reaches out a hand towards that pale forehead, then seems to
change her mind and instead thumps urgently on the door of the hobbit-hole.
Oops - was that /really/ the best thing to do?

Eyes flutter open, though Megan appears to be unable to see- as if there were a
fog, or she'd suddenly gone blind. (Of course, everyone else watching the
scene would probably be able to tell she's faking it, though the more
gullible citizens would be drawn in by her almost flawless acting...).. "Oh..
Betsy.. Betsy where are you?!" A mittened hand feels through the air..
"Betsy- do you think it's serious?" though, at the knock on the door, Megan
seems to regain some sense about her. "Betsy! What are you doing?" she
squeaks- somewhere between panic, and trying to keep the act together.
Hobbit-sounds drift from inside- chairs scraping, feet padding...

Betsy looks gravely down at her 'patient', her own mittened hand reaching out
to grasp Megan's comfortingly. "You just sort of ... fell over," she tells
the woman breathlessly, then raises her free hand to knock on the door again.
"I'm going to ask for help to get you to the Healers House - you're too big
for me to carry you." She stares worriedly at the door, then suddenly wonders
aloud, "Whose house is this anyway?"

"The Healer's House?!" Again, Megan's eyes widen, and she struggles to sit up,
perhaps only now realising the consequences her little joke may have. And
could she chosen a worse victim to play it on? (For now Betsy will probably
run home and tell Hugh, and Hugh will no doubt tell half of Bree, and this
will mean she has people fussing over her for a week- this wouldn't be all
that bad if she didn't have more.. important things to worry about...)
Probably not. "Well I feel much better now Betsy, I just got a little dizzy
there... I don't know who's house this is, but I'm certainly sure they won't
want to be disturbed by--" At that moment, the door swings open, and Megan
goes tumbling inside, literally sweeping the hobbit lad off his feet. (Haha)

Betsy lets out another squeak as the door is pulled open and Megan shoots
backwards. "Wait, wait!" she shouts - but of course, it's too late. She takes
a few deep breaths and looks at the curly-haired hobbit-lad lying in the
passageway. "You should have waited," she tells him reprovingly - after all,
he doesn't look /so/ much older than her, not really a grown-up. "This lady's
ill - she just collapsed, right outside your door there! - and we need to get
her to the Healers." Explanation given, she steps over the threshold towards
the pile of bodies, and extends one bemittened hand to each of the pair
(Megan and hobbit-lad).

From inside the hobbit-hole peeks several more curious, curly-headed faces.
They had to chose a hole with a whole family inside, of course. The hobbit
whom Megan bowled over groans and pushes himself away. "Waited?! I hear a
knock at the door, so I go open it, and I get crashed into by a big-folk!"
Cries the hobbit, pulling at his waistcoat with a frown- bewildered parents
standing in the background glower at the ever increasing pile of snow in
their entryway. "I'm fine, Betsy, I don't need to go to the Healers!" Megan
explains, taking the mittened hand in her own and pulling herself up so she's
sitting. "Ill!?" Comes the shriek now from the mother as she bustles forward.
"I don't want diseased big-folk in my house! Nonononono!" and with that, she
begins to try and shoo them both back out into the cold.

"You're not fine," Betsy insists to Megan, tugging on the woman's hand as hard
as she can in an attempt to pull her up from sitting to standing (not that
it's likely to happen, given the height difference). At the hobbit-matron's
response, her lower lip begins to tremble. "But - she's ill!" she quavers to
the hobbit family into whose hole they've so rudely burst. "We didn't mean to
come into your house, I just wanted to ask for help to get poor Megan to the
Healers House. Mama always says that if I'm not sure about something I should
ask a grown-up. So I did. Maybe we can make her a stretcher?" she finishes
with a hopeful look. Quite the 'adventure' this is turning out to be.

Megan may be tugged and pulled, but in the end she doesn't stand- "It's much
too small in here, Betsy. It's a hobbit house, and I can't stand up in it
unless I want to bump my head." she explains, pointing to the ceiling. "And I
am fine!" she exclaims, again, now edging her way to the door, before
pausing, and looking back to the hobbits. "Yes, exactly! She's ill, and she's
likely to make us, and then the whole of South Row ill with her! Well here
you go, take her outside and to a Healers then, she says she's fine, and
there's nothing in my house to be turned into a stretcher!" at this point-
cold, unfriendly eyes land upon the hobbit woman who refuses to show any
polite Bree (or even hobbit!) hositality. So, she bursts into a violent fit
of coughing (one that is certain to infect anyone inside the hole with any
'germs' she's carrying)

Betsy's lip is still quivering - until, that is, she pulls it between her teeth
to stop the trembling. Her eyes glint as she proclaims, "You people are mean!
It'll serve you right if you all get ill. Don't worry, Megan - /I/ ain't
afraid of you." Just as well, because she's right in the line of fire of
Megan's cough. The child doesn't seem to notice that though. "Can you stand
now?" she asks, gesturing upwards and backwards to the snow-speckled sky
outside the hobbithole. "Cos if you just sit there in the doorway I can't get
back out either." She's small enough herself not to have noticed the
low-ceilinged hobbit-hole too much, save for a duck of the head.

Of course, the cough was put on, too- and the whole hobbit family seems to
recoil- shrinking backward in horror-hands clasped fearfully over their
mouths and noses and the mother looking like she's about to suffer some kind
of breakdown, or possibly grasp for some kind of weapon that will help beat
the 'sikly' girl out of her house. It is time for Megan to take her leave.
Out into the snow! "I can stand perfectly fine, Betsy. I aint sickly, I told
you that. I'm fine. I just.. got a little tired, and fell asleep. That's all
it was."

With the entryway finally unblocked, Betsy herself steps out with a sniff,
kicking snow into the hobbit-hole as she does - but the rebellious little
girl doesn't seem to notice that. "Goodbye," she states firmly before turning
her back on the hobbit-family, and looking up to Megan instead. "You looked
like you were going to die!" she tells the woman seriously, the tears still
pricking at the corners of her eyes. "I thought I just /had/ to get you to
the Healer's House. But if you're better ..." she bites her lip doubtfully,
"maybe I can help you get home instead? You could sleep there. And the man
you married can come and look after you - except men are no good at that,
Mama says so. Hmm." Her little brow wrinkles in a frown beneath its woolly
hat.

The hobbit whom Megan bowled over, bravely dashes to the door and (with a
rather appologetic look to the pair) slams it closed- the sounds of the
family talking quickly to themselves now coming from inside. "I weren't goin'
to die. The snow.. it makes me tired, sometimes. Ohhh Betsy!" Megan cries,
seeing the tears in the girl's eyes. "Don't worry! I'm perfectly fine, I
promise!" she pauses, before nodding sincerely. "Cross my heart... I really
should get the herbs and things for mam, though; she won't be too happy if I
come home with nothin', even if she /does/ hear that I nearly fell asleep
and.. oh, Andrick? No, he's /very/ good at lookin' after me! When I was
sickly, he was with me all the time, and made me stews and took care of me
and everything!"

Betsy still looks doubtful. "Maybe I better come with you, in case you fall
over again," she suggests. "And /then/ I can take you home to Andrick ...
anyway, lets get away from here. They weren't very nice Hobbits, were they?"
She glares at the closed door, then gives Megan a timid smile and nods up the
hill, towards the treacherous path that winds its way behind the Prancing
Pony. "The quickest way's up there."

Megan nods slowly, pushing herself up onto her feet again and reaching down to
take Betsy's hand (though this move is done subtly, so that if she doesn't
take it, she can pretend to have been reaching down to brush some dirt off
her cloak, or stretching, or going to put her hand in her pockets. "Alright
then, you can come with me. I was goin' up along that way already- that's why
I got stuck out here. Lets go!" She finishes, as if preparing for another
grand adventure.

Betsy does take the hand, in a touching display of childish trust. "Don't
worry, Megan, I'll look after you," she reassures the woman - depends if you
consider the skip in her step to be 'looking after', of course. She'd not
make a very good nurse. "Ooh, it doesn't look like anyone's been up there
today, the snows all fresh and smooth. Maybe it's all slippery - are you good
at climbing?" She chatters away, the previous 'adventure' of the unhelpful
hobbit-family already fading into memory ...

A gentle smile touches briefly at Megan's lips, and she nods her head
gratefully, as if Betsy just proclaimed to be a guardian against some
oncoming onslaught of trolls, or..something similar. "I'm glad, Betsy." and
so she follows on- not skipping so much, but not dragging behind so she'd
need to be tugged along (as children are so fond of doing when they forget
they're attached to someone else and decide they're in such a hurry to get
where they're going that the only way to do so is by running- and if the
person on the other end of their arm won't hurry along then they'll have to
be dragged!!!) "Slippery? Oh good! But, well... Yes, and no. We'll see how we
go." Megan suggests, eyeing off the path and taking a deep breath- perhaps
trying to give herself the child-like enegery she needs to make it through
until they reach the Healers.

Betsy pauses at the foot of the steep path, looking up at her companion. "Yes
and no? What does that mean?" But she doesn't stay still while she's waiting
for an answer - instead she detaches her hand from Megan's and starts
scampering up the path with the agility of a mountain goat, sending sprays of
snow cascading down after her. Well, if it wasn't slippery before it
certainly will be now.

Brown eyes gaze up the path (as though they were regarding a mountain of some
kind, one that suggests impossibility), something of fear written on her
freckled face. Her head is turned and she looks back the way she had come-
perhaps contemplaiting a last minute escape. Megan places one food on the
hill with a sigh of defeat, and then begins to follow, slipping and falling
several times, and landing with heavy thuds and "Oofs!" as the air is pushed
out of her. "This aint very much fun, Betsy! I'm gettin' aweful wet and cold,
you know, and I en't as good at climbin' as you are!"

"Oh Megan!" Betsy exclaims, first halting in her tracks (she skids, of course)
and then actually turning round and taking a few cautious steps back to her
friend's side. "We could go back - but it's just as slippery going /down/ the
hill, on the path to the Stone Houses. Maybe if I go behind you I can push if
you get stuck?" Her little face lights up at this suggestion, she's eager to
be helpful. "Why don't you like climbing? It's fun!"

Megan has sat herself down halfway up the hill with a sigh- looking utterly
defeated. The mountain of the hill has beaten her already. This certainly
doesn't seem to be her week, that's for sure! "No, we might as well continue
on... we're already started going up, there doesn't seem much point turning
around." Now she looks at Betsy, as if sizing her up, before giving a shake
of her head. "No, if I fall back I'll knock you all the way down the hill.
I'm much bigger than you, see? I know! How about you go on ahead and show me
the easiest paths?" Oh yes, a substitution of one form of helpfullness for
another. "Oh, sometimes I do like climbing! I'm just a little tired, is all.
Usually I would like climbing, I would!"

Betsy shakes her head, and her face falls. "I'd forgotten you were ill," she
confesses, regarding the woman worriedly. After all, childish logic suggests
that if Megan weren't ill she wouldn't be tired. The little girl swivels her
head round again to look up the hill ... "You know, it's not /so/ far. How
about if you stay on the path, and I go on the grass beside it? I can manage
..." She reaches her mittened hand out for Megan's again, ready to tug,
whilst her other arm grabs at a protruding clump of grass for balance. "Let's
go then!"

"I en't ill!" Megan corrects, with a tiny (rather fed up) frown, though it is
kept only small, as she doesn't want to upset the child. "No, I'm coming,"
and she reaches out to grab the hand, and in a final burst of energy to prove
to Betsy that she's really not sick, she takes off- pushing her boots into
the now and flying herself forward- snow tumbling away behind her. So- who is
actually doing all the tugging? Megan, or Betsy?

That would be Megan. Betsy gives a squeak of surprise, but soon she's
scampering along beside her companion, grinning as she tries to see who can
move fastest. And perhaps that final burst of speed was all that's needed,
for the pair reach the road along the side of the hill without further
incident. "See?" Betsy tilts her head to beam up at Megan, her cheeks rosy
with cold and excitement. "Climbing can be fun sometimes. So's sledging," she
eyes the steep slope speculatively, then decides, "But that can wait for
another day. We better get you to the Healer's House and back before Mama
gets cross with me for being late. Come on ..." Their voices fade into the
distance.