Freda Baggins

I always thought Uncle Bilbo's stories were wonderful precisely because they happened to someone else. Then Gandalf told me the truth about the little golden Ring Bilbo left me. Suddenly Bag End didn't feel quite so safe. So I sold it. Or pretended to, anyway. As far as Hobbiton is concerned, Freda Baggins has simply decided to move to a little house at Crickhollow. Nothing mysterious about that. Certainly no ancient Ring, Black Riders, or desperate plans to slip quietly out of the Shire. I had hoped to manage the dangerous part alone. Sam, naturally, ruined that idea. He wouldn't hear of me disappearing without him, and despite all my protests, I'm secretly grateful. We've walked these roads together countless times, but today every hedge seems taller and every distant hoofbeat makes me nervous. Still, with Sam beside me, it's difficult not to feel a little brave. So I hitch up my pack, turn toward him with a smile, and keep walking. Crickhollow first. After that... well. One adventure at a time.