Upon parting ways with the caravan in Buckland, Buderick asks that Wisterhya tell Derosyn of his absence and give her a small gift. The gift is this: A plain matchbox with an oak wood button, a letter, and a sleek green stone of sorts. The letter reads:

"My dear Derosyn.

Mortals:  A Case Study (A Counter-proposal)

Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon

10 Quellë in the Reckoning of Imladris

Bree has proven thus far to be the ire and bane of my very existence. I thought Dale could be unfeeling towards those in urgent need, but this place - suspicious and wary of outsiders - is clearly much worse about it. They look upon my clothes and hear my accented words and turn me away. They care not about the story I have to share; the siblings trailing behind me with a look of desperation in their eyes.

Wretched are the drums, those that beat,
Unending till the war is won, the life has ended.
The drums that beat through rage and lust,
Love and sorrow.
Onwards, it pushes
the red-clad army through an endless maze;
Twisting,
Turning,
Winding,
Grinding,
Pushing and
Charging till the end.
Where the wind stops blowing,
And the feet cease marching.
Where a darkness encroaches and embraces;

I should have supposed that the opportunity was always going to be too good to be true. A caravan of Erebor dwarves and Barding merchants heading westwards seemed like the perfect chance for me to get away from Dale once and for all. I needed a fresh start. The Watchmen of Dale were at their wits’ end with me, and the folk of Lake-town were getting rougher with those they deemed criminal or unsavory.

Carniquessë suppressed a yawn, perched atop the rocky outcrop making up of one of the hidden watchposts scattered all around the plains of Tumhalad. It seemed a morning like many others: sun high in the sky, white clouds rolling lazily in the blue sky and a gentle breeze swaying the blades of grass below.