Found:
Drab. Drab. Drabbity-drab. Drab greens, drab greys, drab browns. Bree-land never changes.
Luckily, I know this boring backwater well enough by now to make my way through quickly. By which, I mean, I didn't bother to follow the roads. They add unnecessary milage to a path that I would rather be much shorter. Subsequently, Steel and I had a grand time barreling headlong across the grassy hillocks, scaring the birds and bunnies, and surprising the life out of the never-ending supply of bandits who abide here. Watching the beaten paths, they never expect a mad-woman on a horse to jump over their empty heads while they try to be stealthy behind their "inconspicuous" strategically placed logs. The looks on their faces always make it worth the effort!
I had a brief urge to check the dug-out atop Starmere Lake. He inhabited it last year, wintering there. Perhaps he might do so again this year? I decided against it. Why bother feeding these stupid dreams? Bollocks to them!
My refusal to take that detour, however small it would have been, means that I am further along than I would otherwise have been. The Brandywine is perhaps an hour distant, if that, so I have made good time. Alas, it also means that I am much closer to the Shire than I have ever had a wish to be.
That is a problem for tomorrow.
