He was shoved violently into the small cell, hitting the opposite stone wall with a slap. The orcs that had taken him to the dungeons spat on the floor and sneered as they turned, happy to be joining the others at their feast. When they were gone Éiadric collapsed on the hard dirt floor and sat motionless for a minute or two. Then he looked around. He noted a wooden bucket in one corner and an old thin grey mattress in the other. It bore a dark, dry stain in the middle that could’ve been one of two things. He decided that he wasn’t going to try to find out what.

Hello, my name is Lottara...erm... And I like reading books, I really do. I'm daughter to old Gaffer Goodcliff who lives up in Little Delving. Y'know, he repairs books... anyhow... well I try to read most of the books he gets from good hobbits and hobbit inns through the Shire, and a few years ago he turned to me and said "Lottara, girl, since you like those books so much, why don't you go out and deliver them back... if good and honorable hobbits have to come all the way to Little Delving again to get back their repaired books... it's just no good service"

Imladris, 48th day of Ethuil

I returned from a lengthy ride, into the foothills of Hithaeglir - such tremendous terrain - and sought a restful moment for reflection by the Great Fire, with some wine, before retiring for the night. To my pleasure, I found the Hall to be near empty, but for three or four individuals, talking and reading quietly. After the solitude of the wilderness, the hubbub of a noisy crowd is not the immediate sound I wish to hear!