REWRITE IN PROGRESS if plot lines get lost please be patient.
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Fire... Fire... All the pain that tears at my soul and drags my heart down was caused by that calamitous dragon. My kin... my family... gruesomely destroyed by Smaug.

So many people have had the same horrific fate as my family. My father was fighting that day in the mines for our people. I have not seem my mother since she passed when I was just a baby and her image has since faded from my memory.

Whether it was luck or a curse, I was far away from the terrible fate my father was destined for. I was far across Middle Earth in a little region called the Shire. My father had brought me with to the peaceful area while on a journey for reasons I was not bothered with. I fell ill from the exhaustion of travelling so young and my poor father had to choose to leave for he couldn't stop the work in the mine. "I'll be back soon to bring you home, rest well here and get better for our many adventures when I return." These were the last words he said to me.

I should explain that I wasn't just thrown into the Shire to fend for myself. You see, my mother happened to be a hobbit herself and her mother was kind enough to nurse me back to health. I come from a long line of Hobbits called the Tooks but I do not know my kin as the hobbits were not fond of the little half-dwaft that brought chaos to the calm.

Now I was more-or-less tolerated in the Shire until they realized I no longer had a home or family to go back to. My grandmother did her best to provide and care for me but she was getting into her later years and a half-dwarf, half-hobbit child running around her place was not on her retirement plan. Soon the rest of the Shire too were exhausted with the disruption of their quiet lives.

I could not keep putting that burden on my grandmother so I kissed her goodbye, thanked her for her kindness, and left in the late night to start my life alone. I did not know where to start as all I had known was the mine and the Shire so I began my life living in the woodland away from my grandmother and far, far, away from my homeland.

Living in the woods is very isolating. It's almost pointless having a name and no one to call you by it. I almost have to remind myself what it is sometimes when I catch a glance of my reflection in a still pool of water and can't help but feel a brief moment where I do not recognize who is staring back. My eyes don't have the same innocent sparkle they had when I would brush my hair in the mirror in the morning before rushing to see what my father was doing. I now see a young woman with no identity to tie herself to now so when I see her I say "I am Primlon Blackwood" and hope that one day it will mean something to my reflection staring back.

I have earned a small amount of money by selling wood carvings to the odd traveller in the wood but I have managed to find my basic necessities for living and found an old farm house that had been deserted for several decades. It may not be the life I wish for but I still wake up every day to smell the morning air and that is what keeps me going.

Maybe one day I can find a place that I can really call home, a place where I belong.

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