One evening not so long ago, Tearose returned from a mission in the Trollshaws. The area was infested with deadly rock worms and crawlers and they had become a menace.

Tearose killed many of the vile creatures using a new weapon that seemed appropriate for her small size. Tearose’s crossbow had slain many enemies but the hobbit hunter was getting weary of battle.

If the truth be told, Tearose was sad. She didn’t like death and destruction. Most hobbits with any sense would never even venture outside of the Shire, never mind try to battle the likes of the creatures who nearly killed Tearose – not once – but several times!

And Tearose was tired. Too tired even to feast and drink over at the Green Dragon with some of her friends.

Since when is a hobbit too tired to feast and drink, you ask? Surely Tearose was not an ordinary hobbit, after all, was she? Verily, she was braver than most and no one could fault her if she wanted to never leave the Shire again. She had suffered injuries that seemed unable to heal fully and so she felt weak, a deadly disadvantage in many dangerous places she had battled and nearly died in.

That night in the Shire when Tearose returned was quiet and peaceful and for that Tearose was very grateful. She sighed as she entered her humble hobbit hole. “I think I’ll go make a nice pot of tea. I may even have a biscuit. Yes, that might be very nice indeed.”

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