They traveled a long time, a Elf, a Dwarf and a Halfling. Through barren wastelands of Lone Lands, full of ruins from the distant past. Through green forests, wild and untamed. Human settlements seemed lively and very crowded to Linglorel, and the lands inhabited by the halflings were full of joy. Hobbits love living the simple life. It’s relaxing – who wouldn’t love that? Mortals... so dynamic and expanding. And so, they rode across the gently rolling hills, ten or twelve leagues a day.

Clad in a satin and taffeta dress of fancy make, Isulril leaned against the door of the physician's practice for a long moment, breathing heavily, as though she might be asthmatic. She knew that she was not, and she had not physically exerted herself to such a point. Indeed, the hyperventilation coming from her had nothing to do with any medical or physical anomaly. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remarked upon this, and, shakily climbing down the stairs, she laughed. Not loudly, not cheerfully, but she laughed.

A flurry of pale feathers swooped in front of me on the path and disappeared into the trees.

It wasn’t unusual to see owls, around here, but this one did seem to be getting closer to me than any I had seen before.  

Taking the suggestions of those of the Prancing Pony, Eira decided to take a journey down the Greenway, from the town of Bree to Hengstacer Farm. Of course, with her troubled past and disliking trouble, she took the journey by night. It was thankfully uneventful, and the girl could enjoy some fine scenery on the walk. Her cat, Fisher, trailed along. Along the river beside the Greenway, he managed to catch a nice fish for his late dinner.

The inn seemed busier than usual as we entered that night.  Huddles of people in stood around the edges of the room, speaking in hushed tones.  These were not the usual clientele.

Background Ambience: 19th century cottage

Teahesto raced westward across the Bree-lands, the eagle Sûlpadron pacing him on the wing.  The stars were beginning their watch, the brightest ones already competing with a risen moon for attention, all casting an ever more noticeable silvery gleam across the grassy western edge of the Bree-lands.

The Gelatinous Case of the Gobbo-de-gook

(Being a letter exchange between Lancogard North-took and Rolo Primstone of the Watch, Brockenborings)

THE OFFICE OF THE WATCH, BROCKENBORINGS, Northfarthing in the Shire, on this the 30th day of Astron:

I'm changing. I can feel it.

Do I blame Ivan? I guess so. Maybe that's not fair. I shouldn't blame others for the things that happen inside of me.