THUCK...THUCK...THUCK...

Ethariel curiously looked at the man hammering a thick sheet of leathery paper to the wooden wall. He was in his late twenties, had the straight and upright posture of a soldier and even with his three day’s beard and rust smeared hands he emitted an aura of calmness and dignity. It was one of the things that fascinated her about the former Gondorian Soldier, although she knew what a mess the man was, it never showed.

Dirk, a tailor by trade, often frequented different places of beauty throughout Bree-land, on his increasingly lengthy dinner breaks. He spent his days working and treating leathers in a workshop in Combe. He was a man who focused on the smaller things in life, good food and ale but also that of nature. One would often, when in his company, think of him as shy; but he bore a joyful and genuine smile and would attempt to bring cheer out of the grumpiest of fellows. There is no doubt he kept to himself, and often did….until one early morning in spring.