It was a peaceful night in Tookland. In his Hobbit Hole, Goridoc Brandybuck was having dinner. He was back from a three-week trip. The old Hobbit finished his food and sat in the porch, smoking a pipe. He watched the road and the sky in the peaceful and quiet night of the Shire as his rings of smoke flew up into the dark sky, towards the stars. He sang an Elven song quietly.
'A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
silivren penna miriel
o menel aglar elenath,
na-chaered palan diriel
o galadhremmin ennorath
nef aear, sí aearon,
Fanuilos, le linnathon
Nef aear, sí aearon !'
Goridoc closed his eyes for a moment, his legs spread before him. The Hobbit has grayish-brown hair and a somewhat wrinkled face, due to age. Rings of smoke rose as he blew his pipe, his eyes still closed.
Varda's stars shown down from the dark blanket of night, their light seemingly reflected across the landscape, for small dots of torchlight lay scattered across the rolling hills of Tookland. The occasional call of a woodland creature would break the otherwise gentle silence, but even they were merry and carried in them the peace that the silence belied.
'A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
silivren penna miriel
o menel aglar elenath,
na-chaered palan diriel
o galadhremmin ennorath
nef aear, sí aearon,
Fanuilos, le linnathon
Nef aear, sí aearon !'
Goridoc closed his eyes for a moment, his legs spread before him. The Hobbit has grayish-brown hair and a somewhat wrinkled face, due to age. Rings of smoke rose as he blew his pipe, his eyes still closed.
Varda's stars shown down from the dark blanket of night, their light seemingly reflected across the landscape, for small dots of torchlight lay scattered across the rolling hills of Tookland. The occasional call of a woodland creature would break the otherwise gentle silence, but even they were merry and carried in them the peace that the silence belied.