Eira walked up to the woman at the counter with a box. Eira was trying to convince herself she was just trying something new. There were no further motives than using her freedom to try many different styles of clothes. Yes, her personal enjoyment. That was why she was buying this dress. This very nice dress. And the soap Ris gave her? She was washing up tonight because why not? After helping Egfor in the orchards all day, she could go for a bath! No other motivations or desires at all played into this...

"Yes, that one." Dio replied with a nod as his satchel was brought over by the bank worker, the woman offering him a kind smile as the leather bag was handed across the counter.
He returned the smile. "I won't be long." True to his word, the man was quick to fetch the pouch he had come here for, locking the satchel up again and pushing it towards the woman who had brought it from the vault.

Underneath the beat of wings, the children sing.

Their feet in the grass as the eagles sore.

But there was one who did not sing.

The dark man slipped through the trees of the forest, looking around the empty landscape. Soon, Sharkey would have control of this place. Bree land. A servant of Mordor, as opposed to Isengard however, this man had a different mission than securing Sharkey's miniscule throne.

She worked in the kitchen, preparing blueberry muffins. She had ordered a lot of blueberries recently and had already brewed blueberry ale. As she worked, the teasing questions of her boss, and friend, echoed in her mind.

"Do I sense something more than friendship?"

Due to her Nurnhoth blood, Eira's skin was naturally a deathly pale. Yet, her cheeks noticably had color as she allowed the muffins to cool.

Claywick rode into Pemberth with quite a bit of news for Caladna and Cutch.  

“It looks as if your interference has caused quite a stir amongst the Wildwood invaders, Little Man”, Clay called out as he crossed the cottage’s main room from the front door to sit at the table near the fireplace.  

Alleyman, oh Alleyman,
Your foe and friends in tow,
The purse of gold rolls in your hand,
Those voices rumbling low,

Alleyman, oh Alleyman,
The town has heard your mutter,
It sits in wait, hopes to be spared,
The hand that swings the cutter,