Traitor's Festival

Xenia has a narrow miss with Dremeadow guards seeking a man and an adolescent hobbit. She then decides to follow the wanted pair. She wants information but learns more than she bargained for.

                Xenia stared ruefully into the larder that towered nearly two feet above her head. The chestnut shelves told her brunch would be impossible unless she left the house and went to one of the markets in the area. The contents amounted to barely two slices of bread, a jar of tea leaves, ale and a tiny serving of dried blueberries but otherwise it was empty space.

 

 It had been positively dismal the past few March days, with thunderstorms scattered amid drizzle, fog and torrential downpours- exactly the type of weather no hobbit would want to be out in. It had kept her confined to the room she rented for the better part of a week. Xenia adamantly refused to go out in the abominable weather for anything but the privy. There was one exception. Xenia had made a failed attempt to procure food two days ago. It ended with her sloshing as fast as she could through the mud back to the doorstep to escape an abrupt downpour. Xenia had encountered her seldom-seen roommate and the owner of the house when reentering, but the elf had not talked to her. He never did unless absolutely necessary.

 

 That was the best thing about the elf. In Xenia’s opinion, the tenant-landlord relation far surpassed her wildest hopes. Not only was he perfectly willing to permit her to rent a room without a lease or any idea of when she might leave but he did not even demand a name!  Back when the hobbit answered his resplendent “Room for Rent” sign, she’d been prepared to introduce herself as Daria Goodlett. The taciturn elf had shaken his head. “I didn’t ask yours,” he’d reproached. That reply had piqued Xenia’s suspicions, but then the hobbit had remembered her own circumstances. Considering she herself wished to conceal her identity, it would be outrageously hypocritical of her to pressure others to divulge their name. That in mind, she’d decided the reticent elf could keep his secrets. Keep his secrets the proprietor did. They were well-guarded under lock and key like her life before leaving Drémeadow never to return.

 

Xenia raked her hand through her loosely curled dark hair, mulling her quandary over. She might be in brown hose and a grey tunic instead of her nightgown, the halfling thought, but she was in no mood to get wet. The hobbit moved to the single window in the room and ran her hand along the dusty pane, blackening her palm. Wrinkling her nose, Xenia rubbed her hands with the rust-colored rag on the windowsill, contemplating the sky. No longer did it have an ominous black color. She could not see lightning in the distance, although her sight was partially obscured by other buildings in the city rising up as high as three and, incredibly, four stories. In one brightened area weak beams of sunlight permeated the clouds enough to illuminate the sky.  It was the most hopeful the sky had looked in days even if the sun’s rays had yet to reach the ground.

 

            “Groceries, then.”  Xenia moved towards the mirror to check her hair and clothing. Instead, she noticed her face. Frowning, she ran a finger along the faint lines in her forehead. Were they deeper than yesterday? And was it her imagination, or were her cheeks beginning to sag?

 

            Leave it, a voice in her mind chastised. You’re merely worried about looking old because you’ll be thirty next year. So old you have to stop having fun like when you’re twenty-something, get married and have children. Xenia shuddered at the thought. Childbearing disturbingly resembled torture. She’d never forget the anguished cries of her mother first at six with Odo’s birth, then nearly ten with Folco. Thank goodness it seemed, given the way her life had gone, she would never have to worry about it. As a wanted criminal it was impossible to make friends let alone court a potential husband. Subjecting theoretical children to the constant fear of capture would be nothing short of cruel. Children deserved better than the exile lifestyle.

 

            She was nearly out the door when she remembered it was Wednesday. Xenia seized a nondescript badge from her dresser, affixing it to her dark gray cloak for the Traitor’s Festival. That badge guaranteed a discount from all vendors who bore the same badge. Even though the hobbit, unbeknownst to others, had far more money on her person and in this room than all but the richest echelon of the Simillioran city of Dolingdarrow, she had to account for decades of life ahead.  Prudence demanded the discount.

 

Besides, appearing ordinary was of paramount importance. She had even taken various odd jobs despite never working a day of her life until settling in Simillior. The beauty of Dolingdarrow, one of five districts in a city largely occupied by elves and refugees from various lands, was that people kept out of each other’s business. Furthermore, obscuring her face with her hood and occasionally wearing masks was not out of the ordinary. In fact, it was something of a fashion, a trend the hobbit gladly embraced. Dolingdarrow was where she lived the longest other than Drémeadow and that atrocious university in Rheeding she’d attended until her expulsion six years ago.

~*~*~
            Along her usual route to the town square, Xenia noticed to her discomfiture that there seemed to be even more hobbits than a few days ago. Fellow members of her race were the last people she felt safe seeing. Though none paid her heed, their mere presence terrified her. What were they doing so far from Drémeadow? Most of her race abhorred travel. Were they after her? Or perhaps somebody else? It was not as though she were the only fugitive her homeland sought, at least in recent weeks.

           

            She paused at the signposts bearing Wanted posters from various places. Her eyes went first to a Drémeadow poster depicting a glum hobbit-woman with darkened bags shadowing melancholy golden-brown eyes, a wan complexion, frizzy chestnut curls, and untidy clothing. The words in biggest lettering read “Wanted for Conspiracy: Xenia Foxtrot.”

 

Her height and general description had not changed.  The Xenia depicted in the sketch was the same despondent version of herself she’d been half a decade ago. However, the reward for her capture had. A few weeks prior, the runaway had been dismayed to notice the amount of gold on her head had dropped from 15,000 gold pieces to merely 10,000. Today, it remained stagnant at 10,000.

 

            The number of wanted Cancalian murderers had declined.  There was Patricia Twomey, a glowering flaxen-haired woman from Bolingbarke, Cancalia, but the others had been removed.

 Xenia’s attention shifted to a faded Dremeadow flier that had appeared shortly after New Years’. This particular one had been an utter shock to Xenia’s system. She had read it only because it bore the Drémeadow crest.  “Wanted for the Assassination of Her Majesty the Queen Arabella: Kiran Mani.”  Twenty thousand gold was the prize for his capture. According to a note at the bottom, he was from the kingdom of Cancalia.

 

To this day, Xenia remained astounded she had not done something like vomit learning of the death of her mother in such a manner. The assassin perplexed her. Kiran Mani, an olive skinned man with wavy shoulder-length brown hair, was smiling. Xenia wanted nothing more than to rip the smiling fugitive limb for limb when she first saw that. She and her parents undeniably had their differences. She’d been outraged by their response to her flight but she had never wanted either of them dead.  Mani’s kind-eyed face was  as far from resembling how she envisioned a murderer as possible. Then again, appearances could be deceiving.

 

Xenia had never questioned whether Kiran Mani had been the culprit until the appearance of another Drémeadow Wanted poster. She had almost overlooked it because of the colors but recognized the shape and image. The abrupt change puzzled her. If the royal family had decided to change the national crest, why alter the colors and not the image? Why the eerie combination of sinister shades of green, silver and purple?

 

The contents of the poster troubled her even more than the unseemly colors. A lad in his late teens stared from the sketch. One dark-brown eye was swollen halfway shut; the other glowered defiantly at the unseen artist. Mottled bruises marred his jaw, cheeks and right temple, starkly contrasting pallid uninjured flesh. A line of crimson split distended lower lip asunder. What suspiciously resembled dry blood had congealed in matted golden-brown hair. “Wanted for Conspiracy in the Murder of Her Majesty the Queen: Folco Foxtrot.”

 

Xenia gave the image of her battered little brother the usual anxious look, winding the string of her satchel between her fingers.  She did not believe Folco had anything to do with her mother’s death any more than she had when it first appeared. When Xenia first saw this poster just over a month, she’d literally dropped a basket of apples in shock, necessitating an awkward explanation her reaction as a recent hand injury to people nearby. No… it cannot be. He wouldnot have done this. She remembered Folco as sweet-natured, playful and sensitive. The age isn’t even right. He can’t be nineteen. Nineteen-year-olds graduate upper school come September. Folco was just a U2 when I left.  He was only fourteen.  He can’t be a U7. Then Xenia did the math. She had been just twenty-four when she fled. Five years had passed. Fourteen and five was… nineteen! Seeing her youngest brother near the end of adolescence on a Wanted poster careworn, haggard and bruised, Xenia had felt very old indeed.

            After a final brooding gaze between the colored sketches of her brother, the enigmatic Kiran Mani and herself, Xenia sighed and continued toward the marketplace.

 

~*~*~

 

            When Xenia got to the town square, the first she noticed bearing the telltale badge announcing refugee-friendliness was an elf with a gold bar through the sharp point of his left ear and a single auburn braid ending at his waist with a fastening precisely matching the earring. Shuddering at the idea of voluntarily ramming a sharp object through her own ear, the hobbit approached to rifle through the various options. The elf beamed down upon her. “Good afternoon, miss,” he said to her. “Please let me know if I can be of any assistance to you.” He added under his breath, “I do not mean just my merchandise.”

 

            Xenia mumbled indistinctly under her breath, shifting aside an alarmingly blue block of cheese. She hoped this overly inquisitive elf would leave her alone and allow her to get on with her business. She filled a shopping basket with a block of cheese and several small bottles of coconut milk, the only kind Simillior offered. The elves, dwarves, gnomes and humans down this far south had never heard of cows or goats, it seemed.

 

            After paying for her selection, Xenia proceeded to her favorite baker. The corpulent man was helping a fidgety badgeless gnome. The baker beamed at her. Xenia moved to the left side of the booth. Even though this human was here every week and she knew perfectly well the options he had, Xenia did not wish to conduct her own transaction until the gnome was at a safe distance.

 

            Once the jittery customer had gone, the baker cast a look around the area, then swiveled his green eyes to her with a nod. She moved to the counter, resting her chin and left hand against its edge while fishing for her purse with her right. “Thank you for waiting,” he said. “I am not particularly fond of awkward questions I get when people like the gnome notice people like you paying less.”

 

            She gave a terse chuckle. “Yes, well, I can wait if it means no unwanted attention over price differences.”

 

            Chuckling, the baker queried “the usual?” Xenia nodded, smiling. Not only was this baker among those who sought to make life easier for fugitives and refugees seeking asylum in Simillior, but he gave bigger loaves at the reduced price just so that those with badges marking them as outcasts would not have to emerge in public as often. Because of this, she was willing to forgive minor faults like his disregard of her race’s preference for the term hobbits.

 

            “You know, I’ve noticed a lot of halflings lately. You used to be the only one,” commented the baker, laying loaves of barley, wheat and oat upon the counter and reaching underneath to extricate a sack of loose oats for porridge. “I wonder what brings them so far from Drémeadow… and what was that other place they sometimes live?”

 

“Rheeding,” replied Xenia, rifling through her leather and silk purse. She withdrew a silver piece. “Here. Keep the change.”

 

“Thank you.” The man brushed a scraggly wisp of salt-and-pepper hair from his face. “You know, I have a long memory. You used to think it required gold just to buy a few loaves of bread! Are all halflings like that?”

 

“No, I just didn’t know much about what stuff is supposed to cost.” Recognizing dangerous territory, the fugitive awkwardly added, “I was a child whose parents sent… ah, paid for everything.” She’d remembered, just in time, that most did not have servants shopping in their stead.

 

“Say no more, say no more,” the baker chastised her. “I’ve asked too much, I think, and I seem to have another customer coming… good day, now, and see you next week.”

 

Xenia walked past a badge-less dwarf to look for a butcher. She then passed a pair of hobbits. They looked ready to greet her. Xenia arranged her face into a scowl and averted her gaze. One made a disbelieving face to his friend, who shrugged dismissively. Neither, fortunately, said anything. A breath of relief escaped the former princess’ lips.

 

As usual, there was not much meat Xenia considered acceptable fare. The elves, who were vegetarian themselves, offered meat only as a courtesy to other races. The trouble was, they knew little about the meat preferences of dwarves, gnomes, humans and hobbits. Coney was fine, but she for one would never touch dogs, lizards, snakes, frogs or rats unless she was choosing between those or death by starvation.

~*~*~

 

After an hour, Xenia was ready to head home. Suddenly, a small figure sprinted right past her so closely that he nearly knocked her sack out of her hands. Startled, she jumped back a pace. The green-cloaked fellow, about her height or perhaps slightly taller, threw himself sideways between two buildings. Golden-brown curls protruded from his hood for a split-second before he disappeared from sight. At the same time, a human in a golden cloak bearing what she recognized as the symbols of Cancalia and Heironeous shot past her after the hobbit down the same alley.

 

Xenia stared indignantly. What was the human doing chasing someone half his size? Had the hobbit stolen something? Was he one of those bullying louts who derived pleasure from terrorizing smaller races? She felt tempted to investigate but ignored the impulse. It would have been her duty to intervene back home but it would do more harm than good now.

 

Two orcs appeared on the same trajectory as the fleeing hobbit and human. They wore the new green, silver and purple of Drémeadow. Her heart seized in terror as their yellow eyes fell upon her. One pointed; they both made to approach her. Xenia froze, blanching.  Had they recognized her? It would do no good to flee now. It would only arouse more suspicion. What were orcs doing wearing Drémeadow uniforms anyway? How could orcs be working for them? Was her father out of his mind?

 

“Where did they go?” snarled one of the orcs, stopping slightly within arm’s length. “The man and… child. Where are they?”

 

She did not dare let down her guard. Even though it seemed neither orc had recognized Xenia, she was afraid. “I’m sorry,” she squeaked. She considered claiming to not know what they were talking about but their quarry’s presence had been too obvious. “I saw them, but someone taller blocked me from seeing where they went.” Even to her own ears her words sounded unconvincing

 

The other orc narrowed its cruel eyes. “Who blocked you?”

 

Heart sinking, she cast a quick glance around for a likely culprit. “Them.” She pointed at the gnomes, praying silently that she had not just gotten them into trouble.

 

A third orc appeared. “I think they went that way.” He pointed down an alley in the opposite direction. The other guards lunged toward where their comrade indicated.

 

When they’d gone from sight, Xenia’s shoulders sagged in respite. Curiosity, however, overwhelmed her. It would be more prudent to go home but she needed to know what those orcs wanted with the human and slender hobbit. She inched toward the alley where the running pair had gone, ducking behind an empty barrel, setting the encumbering sack upon the ground, and listening hard.

Tense words broke the eerie silence. “I think they’ve gone.”

 

“Thank goodness we got away!” replied a deep voice that could only belong to the human. No hobbit voice reached that low a pitch

 

The hobbit’s voice snapped “no thanks to you! Calling all that attention to us! We’re lucky we weren’t caught!”

 

The man rejoindered apologetically, “well, we paladins aren’t exactly known for our stealth."

 

“You idiot!” the hobbit snapped impatiently. “Well, we’d best be getting back before our good fortune runs out!” A broad human and tall, lanky hobbit materialized and passed by the barrel; she tensed her muscles. Once they were at a far enough distance that her presence would seem insignificant, she emerged to trail them.

 

Their path led the hobbit-woman to a pastry shop called the Bolingbarke Bakery that she had never visited before now. Xenia took an instant to wonder why this place was named after a major city of Cancalia before crossing the threshold. Her gold and green-cloaked objects of marvel were at the back of the shop conversing with the elf behind the counter. Head high, Xenia boldly traversed the large room to a display of elaborately adorned wooden cakes modeling the talent of the decorators near the counter in time to hear the man say “the Waste of Dré shall fade away.” Xenia’s jaw dropped. This human was familiar with the colloquial term Drémeadow hobbits used for the marred southeastern region that had been devastated in a baffling and cataclysmic attack fourteen years ago?

 

Her confusion intensified when the elf unlocked first the door blocking customer access to the area behind the counter, then the door leading to the back room, gesturing both into the employees-only area. While the elf reclosed the two entrances within the restricted area, Xenia noticed a door indicating that this shop was equipped with an indoor privy, a rare luxury. Enthralled at her luck, she slipped into the facility, locked the door and pressed her ear against the back wall.

 

There was a raspy voice clearly unaccustomed to whispering saying he’d made an important discovery, a chorus of excited murmurs and a few grumbles. After a span of time where Xenia’s valiant efforts to gain more specific information than “new recruits,” “orcs” and “we are still safe”, footsteps faded into a direction that sounded as though it were beneath her feet. Did this stop have a cellar not immediately noticeable to those outside?

 

Presently, there were several knocks on the door, then a loud complaint. Xenia moved to the bowl of water, taking care to splash loudly so people waiting outside would assume she was washing her hands after doing lengthy business with the hollowed box over a hole in the ground. Half an hour after she’d disappeared into the privy, Xenia reemerged. Embarrassed to see a line of five awaiting the room she’d just vacated, the hobbit cast the teenage girl at front a contrite look before going to peruse the items for sale. She opted for half a dozen fruit tarts and held out a silver piece. The elf merchant shook his head. “It’s on the house.”

 

Xenia blinked. “Are you certain? I have no money troubles…”

 

“Indeed,” said the elf, “so you can put that thing away and take these.” He handed over a white box with a pink bow.

 

Without warning, the back door opened with a crash to reveal the human and hobbit from earlier. She could see a gleam of dark brown through the shadows of the hobbit’s hood and a mask covering his face but the human’s visage was fully obscured.  “Thank you…” Xenia said to the elf as the pair came back to her side of the counter, struggling to not appear overly attentive to them. “Have a nice day…” She turned to leave only to find herself blocked by the human.

 

“You were following us!” the man accused.

 

Xenia cocked her eyebrows in her best impression of surprise. “What are you talking about?” The man glared suspiciously. She frowned back. “Actually, I’ve been grocery shopping, if it isn’t obvious enough…” She brandished the box of fruit tarts and her sack of bread, meat, dairy, nuts, fruits and vegetables.

 

“Indeed,” scoffed the human. Next to him, the hobbit watched her pensively. “Well, then. Have a good afternoon.” He beckoned to the lad beside him to follow departed the store.

 

Xenia considered pursuit but felt she’d be trying her luck now she’d been noticed. When she left and turned towards home, however, there was a delightful surprise.  They were going the very direction in which she lived. Smiling triumphantly, the rogue casually followed.

 

Half a mile later, the human looked over his shoulder to see Xenia still there. He held up a hand and turned fully around. The hobbit youth followed suit. The hobbit-woman gulped but continued valiantly toward them. Let that man accuse her of following them! She would be telling the truth when she said she lived this way!

 

When she tried to pass them, however, the man impeded her. “You’re still following us,” he said succinctly.

 

“No. I live this way,” snapped Xenia, unfastening her sack while trying to go around him.

 

“Do you, now?” He stepped sideways to block her again.

 

“Yes,” Xenia said, adding the fruit tarts to her bag, “and I would like to get home, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Very well,” said the human. “We shall accompany you.” Xenia opened her mouth to protest but then closed it again. Voicing her thoughts would only confirm his suspicions. “Here, let me help you with that.” The man indicated the sack slung over her back.

 

“It’s okay… I’ve got it…” She tried to straighten but nearly dislodged the bag from her shoulder

 

“Are you sure?” he said skeptically.

 

“Well, if you insist…”

 

She resignedly held out the sack. The man took it with one hand. The hobbit beside him was still staring. She wanted to ask what had him so transfixed but did not dare. All Xenia wanted was for these two to disregard her so she could learn more about what they had to do with Drémeadow without fear of vengeance or capture.

 

Xenia was able to shake off her sudden unwanted companions only by telling them she lived in a dilapidated shack two doors from her actual location of residence. She watched them enter another building on her road just four doors from her, but decided to follow would be pushing her good fortune too far. Xenia doubled back toward her own dwelling, wracking her brain for ways to find out more about the enigmatic pair.

            

 

Author's Note

Please leave any constructive criticism you can think of, as well as remarks on where I did well! I want to be a published author one day, and thus wish to get this story as close to perfect as I can. Definitely need to know shortcomings and strengths alike! [=

Reviews

[Rana]

Wow, immensely interesting! You know the hobbits so well, and i enjoyed getting to know them more too.. Xenia is a great character, shopping with her, pondering, spying and tracking it was all fun.. Theres drama in this. Theres a wonderful balance between the narration and the description, thats something rare, i'd say thats some talent.. Um, only too many runaways from the royal family.. About the ending, its got me curious like Xenia as to the identity of the mysterious duo.. Gonna have to read more..

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Ha, yeah, with 2 from the same family is definitely a bad sign, isn't it? Even if Xenia and Folco had very different motives and situations. I'm sure a lot of eyebrows went up around the continent after the whole debacle with Folco and Kiran!

Speaking of Kiran, might want to add a notation that he's not actually from Demeadow, just allegedly committed murder there. On that now

[Ashley Armstrong]

I like this story very much. I enjoy the fact that there are hobbits in this story. I love hobbits and elves. But hobbits more. I am probably going to read this entire story. I definitely like it so far.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Thanks so much for the review! My book in progress called Democracy end also has hobbits as the main characters; in fact, it is most heavily focused on these little guys. It is set when Dremeadow first becomes a monarchy and offers a very different perspective of Xenia from Folco's pov

[Ashley Armstrong]

Awesome! I can't wait to read it!

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

I just uploaded the fourth chapter to this book! [=

[Tsukin Archangel]

Le Golden Review of Le Golden People~

Dun DUN DUNNNNNN~~~ And the broski appears with his mysterious knighted fellow!!!
Idk for sure. I'm only assuming. Quite possible its someone else though

Anyway~
I find it interesting that you used Hobbits in this, not that its a bad thing just I havent really noticed any other people using Hobbits except like J.R.T, so that was an interesting touch~
In terms of pacing I think it's going well. It doesn't feel rushed or forced. I think there was just enough information given to give the proper sense of tenseness so that the reader could better understand this Xenia's situation without giving too much away about her past that the reader would be inclined to read the next chapters. I at least am curious to know more about the people she kinda stalked and I think all in all this was a good start to a good story.

Personally the only issue I had and this is very minor is that some of your word choices seemed un-necessarily unusual/uncommon, probably to try and fit the style more, which, I myself PROBABLY can't judge too harshly on considering some of my own stories, but especially with reading at 4AM, I can see the benefit of keeping it simple.

For example in the first line --

"Xenia stared ruefully into the larder that towered nearly two feet above her head. "

--You use the word "larder". Personally I'd never heard of that until now and until looking it up in the dictionary I totally thought it was some sort of like cieling beam or something. Why not just use the word "groceries" or "provisions" especially since she goes grocery shopping. It would make it seem less random (which isn't much by the way) it's just NOW with understanding that word the whole scene is even clearer than before.

Another one, and this one I didn't need a dictionary for, but I only point it out cause again it's a very unusual way of putting a very simple term.

"Along her usual route to the town square, Xenia noticed to her discomfiture that there seemed to be even more hobbits than a few days ago."

"Discomfiture": Why not just use, discomfort? or Frustration? or Unease? They all portray the same emotion and don't mess with the flow of the story at all.

Now especially since there are only a few spots like this I'd think it better if you changed them, cause it's kinda like "why did she choose these words to make unusual when the rest is in relatively normal, albiet formal, english?"

That was really my only concern and again it's not a huge issue, just something to consider when editing and what audience you aim this for! GOOD LUCK MY LITTLE TOLKEIN! All in all a good start! :3 I'll definitely be reading more when it's not like Ungodly o'clock in the morning.

[Arutha]

~GOLD Review~

Cher, I really like this! It's great to get a story with some real fantasy races for a change (Everyone's always trying to create their own, these days... including me, lol). I like Xenia, thought I would have liked a little bit more about what makes her tick (though I'm sure more comes later, so I'll shut up.) I remember reading some of your stuff a while back, and I must say that you're getting really good at the technical stuff. I was definitely impressed.

The rest is whatever I thought as I read:

You might consider starting the story with her on her way back in the rain storm, instead of telling about something that happened through the narrator's voice. That way, the reader gets more engaged in it as the character lives it.

First off, Dremeadow is a sweet name. Second (and I'm mostly talking about paragraph 3, here, but I see them throughout. "Discomfiture" is another example further down), you might consider writing what comes naturally, instead of trying to incorporate bigger words that what a reader would expect. otherwsie, it's going to pull people out of the narrative as they try to make sense of what they're reading. Don't get me wrong, the occassional college-level world (or whatever level it would be, lol) is a great learning experience for a reader. I just feel that it's important to covet the flow above the requisite intelligence to read the thing, if that makes sense...

Nice description of the light coming through the clouds. It felt like it might a metaphorical foreshadowing, which is a pretty cool idea.

There an apostrophe after "New Years," when it talks about the fliers. Not sure why...

Is Kiran a human or a hobbit? Would have liked some clarification.

What's sinister about any particular shades of green, silver, and purple? The only colors that I can imagine (as a reader, reading such a description) as being sinister are red and black, honestly. I mean, there are other objects that could be colored with any number of hues and I might consider them sinister, but color alone is not sinister to me unless it's red or black...

"A line of crimson split distended lower lip asunder." I don't think that's a complete sentence.

As I get into the next stanza with the elf, I feel I should point out that I haven't seen anything as of yet that sets in my mind an image of how short hobbits are. She hasn't "looked up" at the elf, or thought about anything that would nail that down in my mind.

"Corpulent" is another example. "Stout" would have been at least as successful, and nobody would have to think twice about it.

The narrator mentions "Simillior" when Xenia is at the baker's, but I don't remember reading that anywhere else. If you haven't mentioned it before, I would suggest doing so as soon as the narrative takes her there.

It seemed backwards when the narrator mentioned Xenia's willingness to forgive the baker for his impropriety (regarding the word "hobbit"), but THEN the baker calls her a "halfling." It felt like it was being explained before there was anything to explain.

When the baker was asking her about her paying too much for bread, it felt contrived, like it was worked in there just to give us a slice of Xenia's past. I didn't feel like the breadmaker would have actually said that (though that could certainly just be me.)

Xenia said someone "taller" blocked her, but then pointed to gnomes. Wouldn't the orcs have found it suspicious that she pointed to a group of people shorter than hobbits?

"No hobbit voice reached that low a pitch." I felt like this was inferred from the previous sentence, and was therefore unnecessary.

"Rejoindered" is another example of what I was talking about before.

"Xenia was able to shake off her sudden unwanted companions only by telling them she lived in a..." I would advise against telling me things like this. Instead, narrate it actually happening, and give me the dialogue. That way - not to sound like a broken record, lol - I can live it along with the main character, instead of hearing about it from a third party (the narrator).

[Sue Hart]

Xenia stared ruefully into the larder that towered nearly two feet above her head.

How was she seeing into it? Paint it for me. Your writing is excellent, you have an unusual way of description and I especially liked the way you showed who Xenia is by her mother's title. Your lead into Falco was ingenious.
The lead is good. As picking it apart, I'd say it's pretty strong.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Thanks so much! I'm glad the lead-in to both the peculiar situation with her younger brother and who exactly she is worked well. [= I did not want to outright say who she was, or why she's suddenly confused about the circumstances of her mother's death and who was behind it, or why she's so obsessed with the Wanted posters lately when she's always known she herself is a wanted person and would of course have a poster. She'd of course readily accept that a foreign human might have done it, but her brother's accusation is definitely a wrench thrown in- and can't say she's entirely happy about his beat-up looking condition in the sketch either.

[Kuandio]

It’s not something that I totally agree with, but most advice to writers nowadays about beginnings is to try to really grab the reader's attention from the first line. For this story, I think most people will consider this a slow beginning.
But I do love that this is about a hobbit! The first time I’ve read about one outside of Tolkien’s pages. And never read about a female hobbit
It is intriguing to know that she left her life behind from Dremeadow (a nice name by the way)
After reading everything I must say that you have to think about what the most essential parts (just a few main points or events) of the story are, but more specifically this chapter,, then return to it prepared to cut away a lot. You're narrating too much, telling us lots of info.
Try to tell things closer to the pov of the main character, and more in what is happening, or what is said through dialogue if possible.
Overall there's probably quite a bit of description you could do without or at least surmise in smaller doses. Definitely there are too many adverbs. That's something most published authors tell us will really hurt our writing
The plot isn’t bad at all, her on the run and trying to hide. I thought it was funny when you said, “Was he one of those bullying louts who derived pleasure from terrorizing smaller races?”
The most interesting part aside from her seeing her own wanted sign posted was her confrontation with the human.
Sorry if it sounds like I am being hard on you, but I think it's better to try to help other writers than give nothing but praise (which is what most people on this site do unfortunately)
In the end it is very impressive that you imagined all of this and put it on the page.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Thanks for the advice! I want to be published one day, so I don't want people refraining from telling me ways to improve my writing. Keep being hard on me; it helps [=

I'm not sure of how to make the beginning less slow. I want to convey the idea that she's a criminal (in the eyes of her homeland, not so much in her own, anyhow) so people want to know more about who she is and what the heck she might have done to become an outcast criminal, as well as show that she hides a lot from those around her, and then lock in on a point of interest by leading in to her identity as well as the other things that have apparently happened in her absense- her mother being murdered, her younger brother being accused as an accessory to murder, etc.

[Hayden Bridges]

Fantastic! I really loved this writing. Keep it up :D It did have a LOTR feel to it.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Aw, Hope it managed to be as good in subsequent two chapters!

[Catherine Frain]

It is uniquely written, but with the sudden change of thought, It was hard to adjust to the sudden change in font. I loved this and I love how the hobbits are based off Lord of the Rings but are not exactly the same as them. I love the fantasy aspect of this story so far.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Yikes, thanks for the heads up about the change in font! I shall certainly fix that. Silly computer, or Word, or Writers Cafe, or whatever else is behind this travesty!

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

And fixed! Thanks again for the sweet review! [=

[Catherine Frain]

it is much better. Much easier to read.

[Mizo4]

just reading it now " i read watched lord of rings and the hobit bit made me think of that, it's nice and descriptive. It's well writen and got an interesting fantasy style, it stars really well. its 2.40 here so i bid you good night but yes good work :)

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Thank you! Tolkien has indeed had a massive influence on me, as the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings are among my all-time favorite books. I only hope I can keep up the strength!

[Mizo4]

best of luck with the story :) hope you are well. yeee i watched fellowship of the rings for the first time yesterday :)

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Only the first time? Girl, you've been missing out! How awesome and badass was it? =D I hope you've had a good day! [=

[Si Fpl]

It Was To Much To Read. It Didn't Make Since.