The Journal of Turri and Yurri
Yurri the Boomerang
Entry Six Hundred and Ninety Seven
I saw the snow drift from the sky after long roads travel. It was a most welcomed sight, the green grass of Bree-land, Buckland, of even the Shirelings and the Elven kind, gone one morning when woken to break my fast by Ered Luin's bird life. The green grass replaced for the white. Across the bridge of the Elven settlement of Duillond was where I lost my favourite Elf, silent and passive, gone as quick and mute as she came. Foreign soil was eventually exchanged for that of home. The winds blow colder up here in the mountains, and I did not expect to see snow for another league or two. Yet here it was. Home never called so earnestly.
Eventually I did arrive at the Hall of my rightful king, Thorin Oakensheild. An axe slung over my back, my chest was inflated, and boldly did I stride across the quarter and up the great many steps to take my rightful place as a true Dwarf under the mountain. It was destiny that gripped my heart. Purpose that spurred me forward. I was met by a member of my kin, a welcome sight.
Darker hair, younger, his face less lined than my own. He asked of my intentions, of my wishes and demands. Then finally, of my past. At mention that I spent many a year amongst the men folk and halflings, my duties were granted as one befitting such peoples. I was to courier, and past were the days of Yurri the warrior. Yurri the brave.
I made at it for many a month, for service was service. The parchments and letters I did carry always met the hands and eyes of their elected owners, and word between Gondamon and Thorin's Hall was never delivered with a greater swiftness. I was sure footed with a satchel around my shoulders, and whilst few of my people I did befriend, those I did I called brother.
It is said in certain parts of Middle-Earth, ravens and thrushes bare secret messages, but messages nevertheless. I am no bird, I am a Dwarf. A Dwarf now tainted with the ways of man kind and little folk, and back there I am to go baring more news to far off peoples. I must away to the place I wished to part from, and deliver the messages to the Dwarf kind of Bree. Birthdays, Yule invitations (it takes a great many weeks to pass from Bree to the Ered Luin), demand for supply and trade. Personal information between the most common of Dwarves, never of high importance or stakes. Surely not to the Dwarven peoples, least of all to I.
I appear to be something of a boomerang, never the thrower.
