Stonefoot the unwise

Well, my friend. It would seem with the recent spate of crime within the walls of Bree. Or maybe they're not walls, they look much like a privet hedge to me, though I never see anyone tending the hedge, so maybe it is a wall in a cunning disguise. Ah, my quill does wonder. Crime, in Bree, now who would have thought it eh? So last eve, on my usual walk about the town, I became aware of being followed. Sadly, the one who followed me trod not lightly with the grace of the morning breeze upon the dew stained grass of an autumn glade, but rather more like a work-horse upon the cobbles of a well worn hill. Some folks have much to learn in the ways of stalking, and many would be wise to pay heed to the halflings of the shire, for none have I known who can tread upon the earth with such silent footing. The follower was even lacking enough in mind to allow himself to be seen in the reflection of windows as I walked towards them. But that aside, I could smell the great unwashed stench as he was daft enough to follow me down the wind that rushes along the wall by the Lowebanks Estate. A deft turn of foot as I rounded the corner to head towards the town's vaults was as predictable as I could be, and yet the one who followed me was so many slates short of a roof he walked right into it. The look upon his face as he poked his head around the corner, thinking to see me walking ahead, only to be greeted by my own face just inches away was something I could not put a price upon. I am far from handsome, but I thought he was staring into the eyes of a bear such was his unhidden fear. A brief and friendly exchange of words soon brought out the truth that I was not indeed the man he was looking for, even if I was. And should he require teaching in the ways of watching from afar, I would only be too glad to offer lessons for a price. A few swift ales later, and it would seem he is as loose of tongue as he is heavy of foot. 'tis a shame I did not ask the fellows name, but he did not seem to mind being called stonefoot, so long as I was paying for the ales. Crime in Bree, indeed. Seems that is no gain to be had even for thieves these days.