Sitting here in the oh-so-familiar window seat of my old rooms in the Prancing Pony, the moonlight illuminating my view, I admit I have trouble putting into words how being back in sordid, sorry Bree has affected both myself and my company. It has been worthwhile, and hopefully will advance our cause...but all the same I will be glad when I am gone from here again.

"It's all 'ung up, ma'am!" exclaimed the young boy, no older than ten. He smiled with glee as the woman put a few silver in his hand. She had found him at the edge of the Mud Gate, and he was looking for work, so she gave him an occupation. Anorieldis was a philanthropist in that way. She walked down the roads of Bree-town and admired the notices, all created in her elegant yet legible hand.

-Page 3-

Now dance! Now play! For the baling of the hay!

Ere winter comes we're out-of-doors to work the time away.

But when the stock is gathered then the farmers all will say,

"Now let us drink by the river's brink and dance the night away!

Hey!"

With harvestmath upon us there are bakers in the street,

and they offer us a crusty pie of apple, cheese, or meat.

Hertha looked up from her studied examination of a box of nails, a gate hinge and a small eating knife. The double doors to the armory and forge swung open in a manner suggesting someone was not totally at ease that day.

“Did you get out of the wrong side of the bed this morning, cousin, or is it something I said?” 

Third Age, Enedwaith

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Two distinct sounds pierce through the silent forest. On the distant shore of a flowing river, a Quenyan battle cry can be heard clearly. Ugly mutterings of the four yrch follow. 

Then, a sharp scream. The silver-haired elf on the far shore pauses in his attacks, eyes wide in panic. Distracted by the scream, Ithilwe slips and falls to the ground, the bank slippery and wet.