Writing for my lord Steward is a discipline instilled within me. I take the opportunity to do so with Amlarad out to hunt - 'and hunt what?' I asked him, 'I have seen little of beast or bird this far north'. But if any can find some trail, a hidden creature, it is him.

Donhelm sat in front of the fireplace in the corridor of the Prancing pony inn. The late evening sun shone through the heavy glass, painting pools of pink light on to the wooden floor. In the next room a group of people were celebrating someones birthday, snatches of conversation drifted to him in between the songs of a minstrel. He heard one man saying to another that they should invite the stranger at the fire to join them since he looked so melancholy, His companions reply was heard by all in the room. “Never invite the whoremaster!

There is an inn, a merry old inn 
beneath an old grey hill, 
and there they brew a beer so brown 
that the Man in the Moon himself came 
down one night to drink his fill. 

It’s becoming so hard to keep focused… to think…

Bree-town, year 3018 of the Third age. It is october and a steady rain falls heavily upon the sleepy town. The hour is still early, yet she lies wide awake staring at the raindrops landing on the windowpane. She can hear the drumming on the roof and the wind howling outside the house.

Steora Sweofthand ... you'm a straw headed fool an' no mistake. Iffen Bawde finds out, you'm goin' ter get it hot.

I dursen't seem ter be able ter help myself. See, this Oldgrove up at the brigand's camp, he says ter me 'Come with me m'lass and yer shall have a good dinner, a soft bed an' some warm clothes'.

And so, I did. He has a fine enough mare and so we both rides her, as quick as quick, through the dead fields and down ter the Bridge-town. Now I gets him ter promise that he'll bring me back ter Gyth and Bawde ... an' ...