Bree

The harvest is finally in, it was a race against the coming cold and the threat of rain. The hands of the farmers from the Northdowns that Crow and Nettie escorted down to work the fields were exactly what we needed. It is nice to have a full house once again, Mother is in her element with people to take care of and children underfoot. Watching the last of the barley being cut down was a weight off my shoulders, for to lose any of the grain due to lack of labor would be a failing on my part.

23 Wintring

A series of written thoughts stashed away in a box of parchment, written meticulously and precisely, as if the writer had taken great pains to make their handwriting as legible and clear as possible. This time, the author's manner of speech is far more eloquent and collected, like he had taken the time to sort out his thoughts.

A series of written thoughts stashed away in a box of parchment, written meticulously and precisely, as if the writer had taken great pains to make their handwriting as legible and clear as possible.

The afternoon sun was just past its pinnacle in the sky and on its way descending towards the horizon when it paused to shed light on the hard-working town of Trestlebridge. It brought forth sweat from the necks of carpenters sawing down lumber, glinted against the swords of guards practicing combat, and illuminated the anxious faces of mothers trying to feed their children with little in their larders.

[Note: The following is a handwritten note left in the Arnorian ruins overlooking the Prancing Pony courtyard, set upon a Gondorian greatsword driven into the earth near the stone circle.]

To my friends in the North,