S.A 2057

My Lord,

It saddens me that I cannot say my goodbyes to you personally and I am grateful to the officer who offered to handle you my letter when you will  visit again or when the next warriors depart for the moors.

 I cannot decide whether I am justified for this or not. My wife has found a calling, as she often does, and decided to leave with it. Not leave me, at least I should hope not. Time to her is not as set in stone as it is to me.

--April 11th

Today, I had an interesting meeting with yet another bard, at the Prancing Pony.

At first we simply took turns playing tunes and shared a toast. She eventually reveals she is looking for someone and asks if I have seen her, though I initially do not recognize the person by description. 

The beorning woman from yesterday turned up briefly, but left soon again, which was a relief.

Another woman came in, whom the bard momentarily mistook for who she was looking for. She called the woman a coward, only to realize her mistake and backing off.

“High-hipped hooligans! That’s what they call you, you know, tromping around the Shires like a herd of … well, Big Folk”. Royzenberry, sitting tall in her pony saddle, looked down at Cutch and Ardanion squatting by the campfire.

Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon

16 Tuilë in the Reckoning of Imladris