A Day in the Shire

The Shire. As I enter the peaceful village, I see a gnome working hard in the fields. His tiny body shudders under the weight of the shovel as he digs into the soft, but heavy earth. Upon close examination, I realize that a gnome is NO GNOME, but rather a halfling, just like myself. He smiles and we engage in a friendly conversation . . . Meanwhile, a tiny mound of dirt takes a life of its own and proceeds moving blindly in all directions. I chuckle, as I realize that the mound is nothing other than a tiny hamster, gravely disturbed by the NO GNOME's digging.

Many years it's been since I stepped into the Shire. Yet its peacefulness and calm remained with me since my birth. The fields are ripe for tomato picking and spark with their green and red on the background of yellow hay. The trees are short, yet the branches are wild and spread into all directions. The houses, partially dug into the earth that fortifies and protects them, possess unique feel of perfect harmony with nature. A kid can be seen flying a kite from the top of one house. The kite possesses a tiny inscription proudly displaying the sigil of the SHIRE.

At times, the village (that now has grown to a size of a good town) rallies its tiny inhabitants to defend against the plight of fire giants that seek to dig up the earth and bash the children to death. Many halflings hide, but a few remain in battle easily defeating the brutes with quickness and precise placement of a dagger.