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.

Lusseriel was sitting on the edge of the talan, enjoying the feel of being in an elven city. Caras Galadhon was perhaps not her favorite place to be, but its security was good and anything beat sleeping near or in a marsh, more so when a nazgul was around.

A light of mischief was in her eyes and she pulled her notebook out of her pack:

The sun set over the western edge of the lake. The well-to-do of the town went to their evening affairs, the poor went to the bars or their homes, and the street rats huddled against the wind in alleys and corners. All except one. A child crept through the shadows, the torn rags that were his only clothes stained black with soot from the blacksmith’s forges. He ran with a light gait over the rooftops, hunched over enough to be unnoticeable from below. He stopped on top of one of the larger houses in Esgaroth, carefully reviewing the plan in his head.