Bree

Eofeole had a long sleep in his little camp outside of Bree that night. He awoke when the sun was already warm in the sky and little drops of rain began to start falling down on his face. He raised his hood and smiled at the weather before fixing his spears and his shield to his back. He walked into Bree from the West Gate at a great pace, by now the rain was falling down harder and he was getting soaked among with all the other townsfolk who were out in the rain. He walked to the Prancing Pony  where he had a quick word with the friendly Barkeep, Barliman Butterbur.

Diary.

This is my first time I’ve come home in days. Well, whatever this place is. I’ve moved twice so far. This time, I couldn’t bare the sight of it…

I have begun to disbelieve the paranoid belief of my kin that there were witches among the elf-kind, but perhaps I have been gravely mistaken. 

Well I will never cease to be amazed and no mistake! Today I was exercising Witimanu on the town meadow, when I heard the language of my own kindred. It seems Béma heard my prayers, if He ever listens to anyone.

After weeks of crossing the wilderness, we have finally reached Bree.
What a sad little town.
I think Father also thought of something else when he spoke of the place. Or when those strangers spoke of it, that time in Aldburg.
The streets are narrow, lined with small round stones that hurt our horses' feet, and it stinks. The people are mean and their eyes speak of fear. They have not the pride of men of the Mark.
But how could it be different, here in the middle of the wilderness?