Tahitoa the hunter spent many weeks on the road, passing through a region they called the Trollshaw, with a rather noisy and rude caravan of dwarves heading west. As they were coming out of the foothills, they passed some elves camps and the dwarves became even more outspoken in their strange language, using words that Tahi did not know, and was to scared to ask about, though he was quite sure such words were directed to the elves. As they strode towards the plains of the Lone Lands, Tahi had a little chat with himself about why on earth he had joined them dwarves and why was he there, and cursed his love for ale and tendency to drink a bit too much of it .
The town of Bree was the final destination of the dwarves, and it was a welcome stop for all that Tahitoa wanted by now was a hot bath, some decent food and ale, and a soft bed, and The Prancing Pony Inn did meet all his expectations. The broad streets of Bree were paved with flagstones, and the public buildings soared to the sky. Tahitoa was still garbed in his traveling clothes, and he received many disparaging glances from passers-by as he moved through the streets where he met some rather colorful characters. His purse was stolen by a shady tall man in a dark road one night, though he did not mind for his purse was indeed only containing a few coppers and some spare buttons for his shirt. He laughed at the silly thief, and went on to hunt boars and wolves just outside Bree for a few days to earn some traveling money. The hides and meat did sell well, Tahitoa had now a few silvers, and enough spare coins to rent a rather lame pony called Old Danny.
So one evening he mounted his horse, and without so much of a backward glance, he rode on towards the west. The sooner he left Bree the better. He reached the Brandywine River a few days later, and paused before crossing the bridge into the Shire - so here it was the fabled land of the hobbits. He rode on. He arrived in the town of Michel Delving a few days later, and went looking for a tavern, and he no sooner entered a somewhat nice establishment than he became convinced his luck was once again on the rise. It was a warm early spring evening and from the window of his room he could see the market square where a few hobbits were gathered near a cart, he could hear soft laughing and some lovely music. As he walked towards the square a few minute later he could see for the first time the tales of the beauty of the Shire were not just legends, after all, and felt happy to be there, as he also discovered the hobbit ale is rather good indeed.
