Bromley woke up and looked at the door of the cage. One of his his cell mates was being dragged out of it violently and when he tried to hold onto the bars the hooded man in charge of the orcs slashed against his wrist making him let go. He looked at Bromley and licked the blood from the blade before sheathing it again and smirked.
Eira walked up to the woman at the counter with a box. Eira was trying to convince herself she was just trying something new. There were no further motives than using her freedom to try many different styles of clothes. Yes, her personal enjoyment. That was why she was buying this dress. This very nice dress. And the soap Ris gave her? She was washing up tonight because why not? After helping Egfor in the orchards all day, she could go for a bath! No other motivations or desires at all played into this...
The dark man slipped through the trees of the forest, looking around the empty landscape. Soon, Sharkey would have control of this place. Bree land. A servant of Mordor, as opposed to Isengard however, this man had a different mission than securing Sharkey's miniscule throne.
Tears stained the page of a worn journal, though its crinkled pages held little in the way of writing. The tall young woman that sat hunched over it could have seemed totally oblivious to the world around her but for the occasional keen glances around at fairly regular intervals.
This letter is written in neat handwriting, even though the rows are never evenly distributed along the piece of paper. There is an ink stain between the second and third paragraphs. It seems to be the seventh in a series of letters.