Journal #6 - Farewell to the Shire

Well, we are leaving the Shire behind now and are on our way back towards Bree. Everybody's singing as we ride now - we are all glad to be on our way home.
I have asked about our path back as we sat by the campfire last night. I don't want to be as clueless now as I was on the way here. The Bree-lander guides could explain to me the path through Bree, but no further - their knowledge goes only until the last inn on the East road they call the Forsaken Inn, and "behind this is wilderness", they say. I know we came through it on the way here though, and I will ask on. They will not come, so we must hire new escorts on the way, all the way to a town called Ost Guruth, or perhaps longer.
Father showed me the maps he purchased, and I have attempted to copy what path we will take here. We will take the road east, then south and east after Bree, then east and east again through the wilderness until we almost reach the mountains. There at a river we must cross south and follow the mountain range for a long time, until we can find a pass. There are two ways of crossing the mountains. If we are lucky and the weather is good, perhaps we can take the northern pass and go south from there, but Father says we cannot say anything yet until we are further on. Elseways we have to turn south to Dunland and make for the Gap. I hope we will not have to take that road again, as the people were uncouth and the travel was very dangerous even with the guards.

Father is satisfied though. He has purchased a pair of Shire-horses, a stallion and a mare, high-shouldered draught horses of sturdy breed. I have the responsibility of keeping them in line when we ride. I have been training them as good as I could since yesterday, but they are not Mark horses. They have not travelled far before, I fear, and we will see how they fare in the long trek. But they are good horses, both of them. I have named the stallion Apple, and the mare Pear.
Father has also made arrangements to sell yet another of our horses, but not to a Hobbit, he says, but a man. I have only seen the man from afar when they spoke, but I am a little wary - a tall, lanky fellow from the north, with dark hair and a weathered face. I do not know how Father can trust him, but Father has not been wrong before. "A horse finds her rider," he says, and if he thinks the man is good enough for a horse of the Mark, his word is law.

I must ask Andswaru to teach me more of the Westron language. When I am back in Bree, I want to at least be able to buy some apples for the ride!