Gafford

A series of written thoughts stashed away in a box of parchment, written meticulously and precisely, as if the writer had taken great pains to make their handwriting as legible and clear as possible. The handwriting plods along at a steady pace, but some crossed out words pop up here and there.

"You want to learn how to dance?"

Hilda looked at him for one full second before bursting into a fit of hysterical laughter, doubling over. Ford felt his face redden with embarrassment.

"Oh be quiet you," Ford snapped, "S'no' like I'm goin' to go out and perform in front of people."

Ford stirred in his bed as the morning light crept in through his small room through an equally small window under which his writing desk was situated. It was a quaint, cozy room, the kind you'd want for a single person living by his lonesome, but at the same time, it was monstrously cramped -- a shelf overflowing with various books stood next to the dusty stonework of a dimly-lit herth-fire, a small table situated in the middle of the room, flanked by two chairs, and one of the dresser's drawers was still half-open, a sock protruding from it's edge.

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III.

Finn was sitting opposite to Ford and staring at him in disbelief.

"You. Are. An. Idiot." He said, expression utterly livid with anger, hands thrown up in apparent dismay, "Really? You didn' ever stop to think, for one bloody second, about what Pa would think? Ma? You realize they've been worryin' about you and missin' you for a year? Really, Ford?"

It was beliveed... believed... that the knigdo-- no, kingdom of Ar... Arnor... even... eventually broke.... up... into there... three sep rate kingdoms, which weer-- were, were... named Cardolan, Rhudaur,andArtha... Arthedain.

"Ford."

The young boy's eyes continued to trail over the parchment with strenuous effort.

Ford was smiling to himself.

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I.

A series of written thoughts stashed away in a box of parchment, written meticulously and precisely, as if the writer had taken great pains to make their handwriting as legible and clear as possible. The contents of this piece don't focus on one particular event, instead narrating a series of happenings with a tone that ranges from exhasperated to indifferent to finally one where the author appears to feel 'strange' about recent events. There is a large blot of ink on one of the corners.