It was mid-morn now, bright and clear of sky. The traveler awoke right where he'd dozed off – seated on the ground of a dusty alleyway, his back against a sooty brick wall in the seedier part of Bree. He immediately checked for his rucksack, and seeing it still lying beside his thigh, relaxed again. He'd chosen a fine spot, then, to drift to sleep.
He pulled himself up and took a few moments to stretch out the inevitable kinks in his joints.
He thought about her, as always. His heart broke anew, as always.
After a time his thoughts shifted to his companion last eve. The otherling. She'd been the only person to approach him out of the many passersby wandering in and out of the Pony. And she hadn't been put off at finding him splashing his face and arms with the fountain's water, or dumping the silt from out of his boots. Maybe that's why she came to him, curiosity at his humility.
She carried herself with the confidence of one who knows no fear, though he knew that he offered her no sport in any case. The strength of her grip and the ease with which she bore her weaponry proved her physical prowess without words. It was a raw, earthy strength she exuded. He wasn't quite sure what to make of her - she was more than a mere woman, he knew that.
She was a traveler too, though he did not know from whence she came. She spoke of a vale, but the world was filled with hidden valleys and pockets of people and he was not a particularly learned man.
He tapped the pouch of crumbly biscuits she'd gifted him, which he'd nestled down into his pack, and was thankful that he'd eat well this day. The otherling wished to keep his acquaintance by revealing - to a strange man in a strange town - where her camp was made.
He would visit her. And he'd bring her a gift, he decided, in gratitude to her kindness. Perhaps he could bag a fat rabbit, one with good meat and a fine pelt.
Nodding to himself, he was pleased to have an intent again. It felt good and right after much aimlessness.
