"It's all 'ung up, ma'am!" exclaimed the young boy, no older than ten. He smiled with glee as the woman put a few silver in his hand. She had found him at the edge of the Mud Gate, and he was looking for work, so she gave him an occupation. Anorieldis was a philanthropist in that way. She walked down the roads of Bree-town and admired the notices, all created in her elegant yet legible hand.
The Mortar and Pestle had been finished for a few weeks now, though she knew that she needed more time to set up her herbs and various medicines. But it was no matter. She had room to store them. She would unpack them all in time.
It was vital that she publicize the Mortar and Pestle and her work in Bree-land, because she knew that her funds would run dry within the month. Like many scholarly folk, she was not wealthy, though even then, she was wealthier than most scholarly folk. She wore clothes of a decent make, dyed in bright colors, and never had want of a comfortable place to sleep. That, and books, were enough for her. Soon she would have her entire library restored from Gondor.
But that was in the future. This was now. As the woman walked the streets, she pondered the past few weeks, and her determination to enter the Barrow-downs. She had heard unsavory things about that supposedly "cursed" burial site, but the more she heard to dissuade her, the more she longed to go there. There was a sort of fixation, a greed, even, to go and gather grave-moss. Grave-moss, she knew, had healing and other properties that she might use in her search for the panacea, among other things. Were she to scrape it from the stones of the tombs, she would benefit greatly.
There were no spirits or wights, she reasoned. And indeed, if there were dead things, they would have been dead for far too long to be of any use. She had no desire to rob a grave like that. No, she thought, no. But there were others who would. It was said that the graves contained a goodly amount of treasure. It was these treasure hunters of whom she was wary, and she could not go alone.
"I will find a guide," she murmured to herself as she reached the steps to the Prancing Pony. She opened the door and headed straight for the bar.
"Any post, Mr. Butterbur?" she asked the keep, who merely shook his head. She frowned, then wandered off to her rooms. There was no time to socialize now. Everything had to be ready. It had to be. Besides, if Bree-town had any similar place, she had not seen it, and it would be no match for her Gondorian natural philosophy. She was certain.
