A Greenholms Demise

[Britannicvs 2508]

A Greenholms Demise

 

 

Alfie Greenholm, in his twilight years

 

It was on a fair morning of the First Seed, spring blooming in the Halfling village of Honeyhill that the elderly Greenholm found himself nearing his death, with his wife by his side. He had in recent years lost a dear friend in Iris Peregrin, and his health had rapidly decayed (in part due to his constant smoking habits.) The old wee-folk soon took his last, laboured breathes as he bid goodbye to his love Dandelion who had been his constant companion for the past eighty years. It is said that Knox had come for him, to bid him come to his fair golden wheat fields where many of his friends had gone as the years took their inevitable toll on the wee-folk race.

 

And so, at an impressive age of 130 the Patriarch of the Greenholms was no more.

Alfie Greenholm, once Sheriff and Head-Bounder

 

533 - 663 SR / 1733 FA - 67 SA

 

Spoiler

03/05/20 - 12/03/22, 678 Days, <3

 

[NotEvilAtAll 10906]

"'e was ah good one, ol' Alfie" says Filibert Applefoot with a sigh, heading back into his burrow

[wolfersquad2004 207]

Nemea walked about the shore of the shire upon hearing the news of Alfie's passing, she picked up a rock skipping it along "another passed away..it seems..too fast" she then sat down some slight tears running down her face. 

[Notic 953]

Sean Puddlefoot gazed upon Alfie with a smug grin, "Took yew long enout, ye shite Sheriff." He said with a laugh, leading his former nemesis through the Wheat Fields to where Sean dwelled beneath a great cherry tree.

[Britannicvs 2508]

39 minutes ago, FoolOfATori said:

Sean Puddlefoot gazed upon Alfie with a smug grin, "Took yew long enout, ye shite Sheriff." He said with a laugh, leading his former nemesis through the Wheat Fields to where Sean dwelled beneath a great cherry tree.

An aged Alfie Greenholm merely smiled at an old friend, following him through the wheat fields. 

[salamanderfantasy 1340]

It had been a while. Young Magnolia Fiddleberry, just turned adulthood, comes past the old burrow on her way home from the cows. She puts down the milk pails for a moment. Grumpy Old Mr Greenholm. Maybe it's because she's grown up now, but it doesn't seem as fun to cause trouble now that he's not her to scold her. She sighs, and carries on.

 

How long had it been? Sorrel barely knows these days. Shamefully, really -- she doesn't know if she even noticed when Alfie passed. But the days pass on. Work needs doing. Carefully, she weeds the graveyard, sweeps the graves. He was always tidy. What would he say now about her being sheriff, letting her job fall to the side in her own self pity -- about her refusal to even acknowledge herself as thain? It doesn't matter. He won't say now. She never got to admit he was probably a more organised sheriff than her. But his grave is always left tidy, and right now there's a little vase of pumpkin blossoms sitting there, freshly picked.