Trigger warning: Domestic abuse mentioned
Breen is a large man both in stature and height standing at almost six feet and two inches tall. Now in his mid twenties he is an independent and renowned horse farmer and supplies most of Bree and the surrounding areas and regularly travels between Bree and his birthplace in Rohan and even beyond should a lucrative deal be likely.
Breen sat warming in the glow of a roaring log fire in his house rubbing the wiry, deep red beard on his chin thoughtfully with one hand. A cup of steaming tea was set on the floorboards at his feet.
He had spent the morning out in the forest with his draft horse and cart gathering wood for the winter store. He even found a small fir tree to bring home for Yule, he grabbed some red berries along the path to adorn it as he didn't have any other means to decorate the tree in celebration. After chopping the wood and stacking it to dry he made the best he could of his attempted Yule tree placing it in a pail filled of dirt. He had then eaten and settled down for the evening.
In one hand he held a quill that had seen better days, the tip not much more than a wobbly strand. In his lap lay a curled parchment that was by now warming by the fire. As yet he had written nothing. He sat gazing still into the dancing flames, his face in the dimming daylight caught in a flickering warm orange tinge by the burning wood. He sighed, looked at the blank parchment and appeared to gather his thoughts before smoothing it out on his leg and sitting up in his chair. He dipped his quill into an inkwell set on the floor beside his tea and began to scratch away at the parchment.
"My dearest sister,
I send this to your dear friend and mine, Eddwerd in hope it reaches you timely from him.
I hope you are keeping good and keeping warm in this chill and so be mother. I will come to you and bring you to stay four days after Yule. I have three new fillies I want you to look over, I am proud of them, you'd do alright with one I'm keeping for you special, the others can be brood or sold.
I hope the man isn't being too hard handed to you and mother, t'was only yesterday I burned me tongue on stew I made and remembered him then, back handing mother for serving food that was too hot and burned his mouth, even accusing her of trying to kill him! You call him The Bull and I swear that day he did scrape his foot on the ground like a raging bull as he jumped out his chair and ran for more ale to cool off before setting about poor mother. I wanted to beat him back but could not, I was a child and would have suffered the same fate as mother had I done, or worse. I remember telling mother I would grow big and one day I would save her as she wept, she smiled at me and back then I believed it would happen. I am big now but fear I cannot save her, she only can decide that fate. Still, I hope to save you both one day and will never let that hope go.
One day, little sister, you and mother may be strong and leave. I have room, you can work the horses, you love that, mother can cook food as hot she wants, I shall never complain, we shall be happy, like family should be.
Be strong, be safe and stay quiet.
Your loving brother
Breen"
