Nimuviel’s Diary: Page 13

Iavas day 23, The Shire, near Hobbiton The journey through the swamps, which the Hobbits call Rushock Bog, was long, tiresome, wet and because I want to keep a positive outlook on the rest of my journey I will merely say that I am glad that I have left those miles of reeking marshland behind me. The nice postman in Needlehole gave me some extra provisions for the road – he said that I look much too skinny and almost unhealthy – so that now I am enjoying fruit pies, salted meat and a flask of cider. The weather has improved much since I set out from Falathlorn; the sun is back, although the temperature has cooled, so that at least I need not travel in cold, wet clothes, for now. I have set up camp in a field nearby Hobbiton, among some pillars and half-collapsed walls of what must have been a grand estate a long time ago. The postman in Needlehole told me that, although Needlehole folk, being on the road between the Shire and the Blue Mountains, are somewhat used to seeing foreigners, but that the rest of the Shire population is not and that I would do best keeping to myself, so as not to upset the townsfolk. Or, for that matter, the farmers, who apparently can become quite territorial when strange folk tread on their land. I do not mind the solitude; it gives me the opportunity to practise my new weapons a little and reflect on all that has happened the past few weeks. I also think that Aldalin and Liwurien intend me to spend some amounts of time all by myself, for I expect that that is what they all do, mostly: to wander the lands knowing that they can provide for themselves, to keep a watchful eye out for those who need it and yet to be able to enjoy the seclusion of nature and the silence. I have estimated it should take me another ten days to reach the bounds of the Shire, then I will cross the bridge across the Brandywine River and enter Breeland, where Men live. Although I intend to stay in the forests and the fields while travelling through the Shire, I fear I shall have to follow the road when I enter Breeland. The alternative would be to cross the Old Forest, and from there the Barrow Downs, and I have heard Serathuil and Gildin tell enough stories of these places not to want to travel through them. Past the village of Bree, though, there will be patches of wilderness again, with forests and marshland – I am hoping already that the weather will be dry when eventually I get there – and then it is only a short distance to the Weather Hills. There I shall have to seek the White Hand encampments and write reports. I only hope I will have mastered my bow and my daggers somewhat when that time comes. I feel this strange knot in my stomach when I think about it. I am afraid I will either be hurt if I venture too close to these soldiers, but if I keep too much of a distance I will not be able to complete my Task. But this is all still far away. For now I must traverse the Shire. I hope I will meet another kind postman who will offer me more fruit pies and cider.