Leoffrith

I've got a proper bed -- well, almost; it's still a bit too small for me, but only a little -- and we all got our own rooms. I guess the hobbit that runs the Plough and Stars in Brockenborings keeps a few rooms he can have made up for tall-folk. I think what it really is is a wide bed what he can turn sideways or something, but it's better than sleeping on the floor. There was venison steak and fruit pies and a mug of something he called stout that were thicker than some stews I've had. And it were all paid for for us!

I hadn't been able to find any source for wine-glasses in Bree. Seems Butterbur has enough that he just has to buy a few when a merchant comes to town with some, to replace those as broke since the last time. But I hear that there's glass-blowers in the Shire and that's the place to go. It's an easy ride of a day there and a day back, as near as one can come to a safe road, and I always wanted to see the Shire anyway -- I been as far as Buckland but never crossed the bridge.

The book before her wasn’t particularly interesting, but it was informative. Where was the Isen anyway? She referred back to the map she had borrowed from the scholars in Bree to refresh her memory, then back to the book. She honestly hoped she’d not offended him, though more likely it had been the inebriated man who’d inserted himself into their conversation that had, what with his rather strongly negative opinions of foreigners.

Having a house that's yours, even if only rented, and having the chance of people visiting -- especially, but not only, because you're courting -- calls for a lot of things to have on hand. I'm sure I've barely scratched the surface of what a host should be ready to offer, and I've already spent as much as I can make in a half-dozen visits to the marshes gathering goblin ears. And just for things for my visitors to drink!

The Man would scarcely have caught her eye, normally, as he was as plain as any and more than most. The Men who dwell on the edges of the Forest of the Great Fear sometimes passed along this path, and this Man followed in their footsteps. But she had not been appointed by Thranduil to scout the edges of the forest had she not been keen of both eye and mind, and so, she noticed what was peculiar, even when she was hard-pressed to say why it was. Watching the Man, she was intrigued.

The gate before me is nothing more than a pair of trees, leaning together, hanging heavy with ivy and lichen, standing astride a hard-beaten path upon which only a few blackened leaves dance in the winter wind. Beyond is nothing but forest, but somehow, it seems as dark and threatening as any tunnel bored into the bowels of a mountain. I have been staring at the gate, and the path beyond, for hours; even Kestrel seems reluctant to cross that threshold. But duty must be answered. In a moment I shall step into the gloom of the Mirkwood and begin my crossing, to the Dale-lands beyond.

Not one stone stands atop another, and a man might ride past, or even over, these ruins and never suspect that a city once stood here.

I am again on my own, or rather, Kestrel and I are again on our own, as we pass into the far northern reaches of the valley which is shaped by the Great River -- I have learned that it is also called the Anduin. I seek the ruins of an ancient city called Framsburg, long abandoned, and perhaps the most likely place I could hope to find the lantern. The silence by night, when even most of the wild beasts slumber, aches me more now than it did this past spring when I was first becoming accustomed to solitude. I bear the loneliness with hope, hope that my journey may be nearing its end.