A farming village seemed more promising the more their provisions ran low. The horses were slow and poor, and more a hindrance than a help.
After heading far enough north, they made camp anew. Es headed into the quaint town and its quaint inn.
At the bar, he asked for work. Butterbur must have liked the way the Gondorian held himself. A job tending the bar was swift laid out for him.
A starting point. He'd begin the following evening, on the late shift.
It would not be the first time Es had tended a bar. Though, after the last few years it would be ... interesting.
He rode the nag southward out of Bree back to the camp where he'd left the strange stowaway.
