The Household of Bar-en-Acharn was encamped at Woodhall in the Shire, the afternoon slipping into the evening, when the sound of a pony’s hooves came clattering up the nearby road and turned towards the encampment.  All there rose as the rider reined up just near the fire circle, and a halfling sprang from the saddle, sporting a broad-brimmed leather hat, a crossbow amongst his gear.

Sometimes, Adiwen and Altor met in the great hall, sometimes in the garden, allowing the crisp morning sunshine to inspire their efforts. 

Today, they were seated in the garden. Altor was reading passages from a book and she was supposed to write down each word. Adiwen felt her pen scratching the paper painfully slow. His voice was as clear as always, but he seemed to be reading faster than usually. And yet, she had only transcribed a few sentences. 

If I were only a flower with

no name, blooming in a field

with others just the same.  

   Tarnon was astonished by the large library in Halbarad’s chamber. If only I could read, bugger it…

But the fortress was full of other surprises.

Morning had dawned clear in Falathlorn, the sunlight peeking over the heights and through the trees which screened Torn-en-Aduial on the banks of the Lhûn.  At the mansion of Torech Besruth, members of House Bar-en-Acharn gathered in the Grand Hall, some only just arriving, their mounts grazing freely outside.

Azaghâlbad’s log: 22nd of ‘Afkalm

Xanderian sat in the window seat of her chambers in the Prancing Pony, mostly concealed by the homespun drape as she looked down into the bustling courtyard. Even from this distance she could hear her sister Xandilif’s raucous laughter as she prepared to ride out towards weeping, ever-bereft Trestlebridge and then into the dead lands surrounded Fornost.