Escort duty. As through we were a couple of mercinaries. No bloody pride when she should have it, then all bloody prideful when she wants. M'lady bloody Olwing.
Women. Give them a foot and they take a league. She stands there, face as sour as bad wine when she hears what I says about it. What does she expect? Into the misty mountains with her is bad enough, tho' I give her some due, she knows how to hold her sword. But into the mountains with her and some dozy mare who aint even got a map... What does she want me to do... thank her?
I aint seen this woman yet, Mistress Lilly. My luck, she will be a wrinkled old toad with breath like a dried trout. Even m'bloody lady might look toothsome next t' that.
The fair folk in this hidden valley are fine to look upon, though the males are as pretty and soft lookin' as girls. But for all the wonder of this place, there is no fun to be had. No tavern, no happy lasses looking t' help a man spend some coin and forget he is miles from home. I could almost wish I was back in that stinking village of Bree.
