After a brief rest, a encouraging dinner, and good weather, Folthorn departed from his camp. It was beautiful day, snow was melting, the early spring breeze flew throughout the land providing a cold yet refreshing wind. A Red Fox was at Folthorn's side, following him, staying underneath the shadow of his cloak. There were more hills now, high as a watch-tower. Nor were there green as far as the eye could see, at least for now. Folthorn and his fox-friend walked among the road, pondering if it were to be more dangerous yet quicker to go off it. Seldom did they stop, for a moment of rest, or to check their surroundings, they simply continued on the road. The fox ran off in the direction of a wooded area, a swamp was near it, and its water flowed throughout it. Folthorn swiftly pursued after his furry friend, entering the swamp. He soon found out that this forest was not of the likes he were to stay in, for it was like a den of Trolls, but these were larger, had Armour, and walked in broad day-light. Swiftly they left, running with speed.
They continued upon the road, Folthorn now made sure that his friend wouldn't run off again, no matter how promising the thing he saw was. The Lonely Bridge was several feet ahead of them. They crossed. Folthorn wondered how this bridge came to be, as he has only came across that structure thrice now. Trollshaws is a beautiful place, much more beautiful than the Lone-lands, at least Folthorn thinks so. Trees swayed, birds chirped, squirrels scutter along the trees, the grunts of boars could be heard. It was like a endless autumn. Trollshaws are a beautiful, yet hardy land, for their hills, beasts, and other things know no bounds when it comes to mercy, only the Elves of Rivendell keep the land and animals in check. As the Sun slept, the moon awoke, and its dim light shone throughout the trees, creating almost eerie area of focus. That is where they both sought rest, the fox curled up on Folthorn's stomach, and went to sleep.
