Untitled - BoG-Archive

Elchim chuckled. “The river is too far, but there is a stream just a bit further
up that would serve the purpose. Do you know how to swim?”
“Oh, yes,” Boromir said proudly. “Uncle taught us to swim! Is a stream like
the ocean?”
“No, indeed,” Halhigil shook his head. “Come, we will show you what a
stream is.” He could not imagine a child of Boromir’s age having never seen
something as simple as a woodland stream, but, he admitted, he could also not
imagine what the sea must look like.
Both boys were astounded at how small the brook was. “I could walk to
the other side,” Boromir said, sounding a bit disappointed, then he brightened.
“Can I walk to the other side?”
“Take off your boots and socks first,” Elchim bade. “Never let your boots
get wet if you can help it – wet boots will give you blisters and can cause a
terrible rot of your feet as well.”
Faramir sat down next to his brother to pull off his boots. “I don’t want a
rot in my feet,” he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
“Then keep your feet dry,” Halhigil said with a half-smile, removing his
own battered boots. He had known more than one man who had not been able to
do that very thing, and the results had been most unpleasant.
The boys were tentative at first, but the sun had warmed the water, and
soon they were shouting with laughter and splashing each other wildly. Boromir
spotted a frog, and they ran clumsily through the water trying to catch it –“No,
Faramir, he went that way! That way!” – and after Boromir slipped and fell for
the third time, Halhigil wished he’d had them remove their clothes entirely. He
had forgotten that little boys were incapable of simply wading.
Finally Halhigil called them out of the water, and they came readily
enough, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, and mud up to their knees. “I’m
hungry,” Boromir announced. “Can we eat now?”
“We shall to go back to your campsite,” Halhigil said. “There is food
waiting there, and it is growing late.”
“Will we have a fire?” Boromir wanted to know. “I want a fire!”
“We will see,” Halhigil replied, though he doubted the gardeners would
want a fire pit dug in their carefully tended grass. “Put your boots on, and we
shall start back.”
Elchim saw that Faramir made no move to obey. “Come, Faramir, you need
to put your boots on.”
“My feet are wet,” Faramir said fretfully. “They will get a rot in them.”
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