Torry watched Millaray Boggs on her pony trot up to him and Constable Tanglerush. The hobbit rider was dressed in red Watch armor with her pony adorned in Watch livery. Reining up before the two, Millaray saluted the Constable without dismounting, and announced, “Watcher Boggs reporting as ordered.” The hobbit Watcher held a confident but respectful demeanor and the Constable returned the official salute, but then smiled and said warmly, “Good morning Millie. How are you and Gammy today?”.

*The following piece contains a brief description of self-harm. If this subject matter is something that would trigger you or make you feel uncomfortable, I advise you to proceed no further.*

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A Cure for the Common Cold

(during the turning of the season)

The main objective when treating one's cold is to relieve the head of an excessive build up of mucus.

A mixture of black beetroot and honey administered through the nose. Or alternatively, a cup of rain-water infused with a selection of assorted rose petals to be applied to the nostrils to alleviate the sneezing.

This piece of parchment is tucked in between the cover and the first page of Thinthil’s journal. It is covered with scribbled notes and questions. It also appears to have been stabbed multiple times.

Happiness - Mom’s lullabies… why not since then?
Sadness - Mom left me… why?
Contentment - ...I don’t remember

Why can’t I feel anything?
Who are the monsters?

… Am I the monster?
I DON’T KNOW
 

Gentle rain along the treetops - it drips down in a cascade. It slips from leaf, to branch, to trunk, to root. It sweeps away dirt and ash. It settles at the floor of the forest; within its wetness pools rot and timber, and leaves that sit gently across the top, and that wait to be swept up again by the wind once more. The rain covers the forest in a misty haze, blurring the outlines of figures and trees. One would not be able to see past the depth of their own fingertips.

The sun shone down on the docks of Esgaroth, and the town was bustling with the activity of spring. Fishermen loaded their boats, the market rang with the calls of the merchants, and families strolled together in the wonderful weather. One such family stood on the docks, the lake-birds soaring above their heads and the masts of fishing ships. A young boy and his mother stood there, peering out towards a ship in the distance. A man stood upon that ship, waving cheerfully back towards the docks and his family.

The search for ‘Discov Road’, where ‘Lady Addwyn’ and her friend ‘the Autumn Spirit’ were sure his own lady must be concealed, takes him several days. But, dirty, weary, and flagging in hope, at last he stumbles on a sign that restores it. As he approaches this little village on the outskirts of Bree-land, he stops a passing resident to ask if they have had any Dwarvish visitors; not only does she answer affirmatively, but mentions that there is more than one family that seems to here reside, on the surface.