The shadows of the alley were still cover enough to conceal oneself in, though the sun was higher than the smuggler would have wished. From the small nook, she could see any comings and goings from the bookie’s villa.
As I slip my bare feet into the shallow waters of Halecatch Lake, I breathe out a sigh of relief. The waves that lap at my ankles pick up the hem of my dress, muddied from where I had been kneeling at the shore only a few minutes before. I had come down to the lake to escape the busyness of Bree-Town, but also because my painting smock was in a desperate need for a wash and Marsie had refused to do it with the rest of the laundry anymore.
Entering the estate, Eira trudged in with a thick coat of sweat hanging on her frame, further worsened by the loose and comfortable, yet heavy and hot robe she wore. She sighed, scuffing her shoes as she walked through the building, a feeling of idleness and loneliness marinating inside.
I have finally made it to Bree-land. It is the twenty-forth of July and I began my journey West to Eriador nearly three months ago now, though it feels as if it has been double that. I suppose stopping at every unique boulder and twisting tree will do that. Finding my way to the hub of the central village of Bree was simple enough. If you listen for naught but a minute, you will hear mention of "The Prancing Pony."