I am a woman of peace, of good order, of enough for all. So I was raised, so do I still live. I see no benefit in chaos, and poverty of goods or of spirit. We are the Rohirrim, the Horse-Lords, and by that title should be honourable and trustworthy, else what is a ‘Lord’ but a baying dog not wanting his bone while depriving it from others? 

“It is hard to find you sometimes among so many fine houses” said Estarfin, as he crossed the hall to stand with Parnard and I near the furnace. A straightforward statement of observation, he had made similar comment about my house in Mithlond. I knew I should speak with him soon, less there was something irking him that could grow out of proportion. Many houses hereabouts lay empty and deserted.

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The time had inevitably come where Daphne was leaving Esgaroth and heading home.

At once there he was again, leading Bread, his now tired and weary horse, to The Prancing Pony. Bread seems displeased with him as he tugs at the reins. Stitches looks over his shoulder at Bread with a sigh as the Bree rain patters on his hood, and his boots slosh through the muck, "Come on now, Bread...I didn't want to bring your friend out in this weather. I won't be here long and then we can go home, alright?"

Ride not easy into dark and shadowed forests,
Where ancient trees whisper and conspire,
Where roots and stones tickle a horse’s hooves,
Where streams are deep and treacherous,
And overgrown paths lead too far from home.

Ride not foolishly into golden northern realms,
Where wicked elves weave their magic spells,
Where the shade of trees hide their gilded arrows,
Where heavy leaves glitter in the dark of night,
And elven waybread tastes naught of home.

Dearest Cedmon,

Itharius's claws clatter along the ground as he prances around the large room, the one large room comprising Stitches' new abode. Stitches himself stares in at the place, a hollowness in his eyes, as if he's only barely perceiving his surroundings, the floor pattern, the roughmade but sturdy wooden furniture, the bed tucked in the corner, and the tables full of plates at the top of the steps near the back of what he can only assume was intended to be a hall of some sort.