Seeking Word

No fire tonight, only the crickets to keep him company. The rustic folks of Bree were quite suspicious of men of his ilk, and a flame in the night would do him no favours. He thought back on the last time he had been in this quiet part of the world. Memories of great and terrible crows and his past company arose in his old mind, the dread of any news of them threatened to turn him away again, send him north or to the wooded east.

Luckily a tree was stood just over where the old man had chosen to sleep that night, he bundled long grasses together to sleep on and his travel robes would keep the rest of the night’s chill away. Just on the hill in the distance the lights of Bree-town could be seen, he was keen for a warm bed and a mug of spiced wine but his own little tradition stopped him from seeking either. He liked to watch any settlement before he would set foot within it. He chomped down another raw root. His kin musn’t be far away. Another root. If not, he would push further to find them. He wrapped himself deep within the wools and furs about him and stared upon the treasure which hung about his neck, in that tale, he still had found nothing, perhaps she had left and gone forever? No that could never happen. A tear formed and threatened to roll down his cheek, it could never happen.

The evening light faded and his eyes began to drop, the lights of Bree stood out more than ever. Riders had passed by on the nearby road without even noticing the old man, or perhaps they hadn’t cared. Sleep took him, and Bree awaited him the morning after.