A groan so loud if could have come from the lungs of a whale escaped the hobbits maw as he flopped each hoof over his stomach and continued to nestle his rump and spine into the hot sand beneath. Licking his chops, his great fan of a forelock shading his eyes, the halfling had settled in for a most glorious nap. As his weary, half-sized body began to succum to sleep his lower jaw began to slowly slip open, soon to create a miraculous amount of snoring.
Peacefully he slept, for minutes or for hours; it was only when a great gust of wind came and beat his forelock from his eyes and handed him a mouthful of sand that the guardian awoke with a vengeance.
Scrunching his nose and launching himself onto his side, the hobbit began to forcefully expel every grain of sand from his maw with repetitive licking until the drool ran down his chops. Eyes watering and wings flared from the turmoil, Pippigrin glanced at his surroundings to find that he had placed himself incredibly close to the water on the north shore. Another hour and perhaps he'd be swept away by high tide.

Squinting once more at his surroundings the warrior gave a gruff sigh as he collected his things; a manticore bone knife, his whither bone slingshot, and he leg brace he already wore. 'Enough with the sleeping, Pip, there's much work to do!' his dear old mama might say over his drowsiness, and she was right.
She was always right.

Not too soon after beginning his trek over the dunes the selcouth creature noticed a strange mark upon the horizon. It was far, far over the bay on one of the many dunes that littered the doorstep of their island. How strange! It had not been there when he had snuggled in for a nap?
A wingbeat more and Pippin was away, gangly legs dangling ever-so-slightly as he plucked himself upwards onto the wind with every intention of sussing out the strange stamp upon the opposite continent's south shore.
The halfling drew near, eyes squinting as he reached the height of hs flight - the picture, or rather, word, was now clear.
"H E L -"
Oh, What!? He didn't think the Throat was that bad! Who was writing such obscenities? As the Throat's Guardian, he would make them pay at. once.
Though not a moment longer and and anoter letter had appeared, finalising the word.
H E L P.

Oh! So they weren't insulting his noble land. Good; perhaps he'd be off then. A twitch of his feathers and the small stag diverted his flight eastward to turn tail back to the island. It was as he flew back that he thought once again about the word, mulling over each letter and symbol and what word it might create. WAIT!-
They needed help!
"HAY!" Pip squawked, his wingls flaring against the wind, angling each pennon to turn his fragile body right back around to face the vast continent once again. "WAIT!"

Anxiously flapping, somewhat madly towards the location of the word written into the dune, Pippigrin saw another had come to lend assistance, or was it he who had asked for help? It was the prince! The prince Mathèo had spoken to at the meeting a number of weeks ago, that same handsome prince who intimidated Pippigrin to the point he felt like he had to hide. What should he do now, now that he was confronted with him?
"Your-" what on earth do you call a prince? How do you address them? "most... holy-and-divine-perfection?" Pippin strapped this togeather, thinking if he had got it wrong he couldn't scold him for not trying. "Do you need any help oh-marvellous-one? I saw your message my prince!"