The damp, torn and dirty boot seeps traces of water out from it as another step is taken down the cobblestone path. Tired, green eyes lift up to the gate of Bree, while frail fingers grasp at the reins of his horse. Coarsely, he speaks, saying something to himself in a moment of hesitation, as though he himself can't believe it, his voice struggling to start with a forced whistle, "Hhh...Home."
Stitches ducks his head, keeping his hood draped over his head, and his eyes to the ground as he navigates through the West stables of Bree, and down the road. The busy city leaves him restless, on guard, flicking his gaze left to right rapidly at the slightest sound, growling as his shoulder bumps into others in the busy street. He is not used to this anymore. He should have left Bread at the stables, but all he can focus on is the rusted key in his hand. As he tries to keep calm, he cannot even remember who had provided him with it, or where they had come from. He only remembers the direction to the house it would unlock, adn the name of a neighborhood he was no familiar with, 'Knotwood.'
As he wavers too and fro down each street, his partly empty, mostly damaged mind conjures ghosts of himself and his old friends along the street, near the fountain of The Prancing Pony. Down by the market, occasionally walking down the road. Sights like these usually cause him to shiver, to curse himself and his choices. Still, at a time like this, Stitches grasps the key tightly and leads Bread and Itharius, whom rides atop his horse friend, through the ever winding streets, the roads that feel like they grow longer, as his tattered cloak drags along the ground behind him. Some distant part of him within the furthest corner of his mind wishes, almost yearns for the stinging pain of heartache. Some part of him wants to be sad, it just isn't this one.
