Yondershire

Of all the things to come of this Age, the invention of paper is the most welcome development. To see the hobbits make use of this, you would think ink and paper have always been a part of the Shire’s culture. Certainly, only the wealthier hobbits have the time to learn letters, but the ones that do make use of it almost every day.

The Rangers of the Lune are, in some ways, those who remain of the noble Dunedain founders of Arthedain. They are smaller in number than those of their people that dwell near the Trollshaws, yet they were the first to whom we taught the ways of the land. When the kingdom of Arthedain fell, they kept safe the people fleeing west to Lindon as they maintained a vigil for the return of their king. They still watch over the trappers who live up and down the river.

The village of Gamwich has no farms or markets like the other villages of the Shire, but it does sustain itself with a dedicated culture of hunting and fishing. The forest of Arassien has always been plentiful, although perhaps never truly tamed. The rivers from multiple waterfalls converge at the large pool which the village is built around, and the hobbits spend much of the morning laying out nets through them to catch the fish from the Lhûn before they head south to the Water.

In the hollow of a tree of the east Meeting Grove was found a tightly wrapped package. Among its contents was a bundle of the letters attached here. Along with some pressed flowers, several honey-cakes and a postcard addressed to the ‘good fairies’ by one Wingard Puddifoot.

I awoke to find Estarfin absent, although his cloak was placed over me. Parnard, however, was sitting on a nearby rock, resting his chin on his hand and looking rather thoughtful. 

“We will travel soon, I believe. At least this time I do not wear iron chains,” he said upon hearing my movement.

So there I was, riding me pony with as many of me things as I could pack, heading fer Needlehole an the Yondershire.

It was strange how it happened. One day I was carrying on as usual with me chores and me cooking, happy as anything, and then that dream came back ter me. It was as if it were yesterday! But that dream was over ten years old. Why was it back, an with such strength I had ter act on it?

Jeb Jexson was thinking about his younger brother Bramwell. He was thinking of how Bramwell died in those ruins in Yondershire. He was not a happy man.

It is said that the first of us awoke late at night, under skies of unclouded stars, and the stars were their earliest memory. They loved all of Arda, but were ever moved most in heart by the stars, and the hours of twilight and morrow-dim.(1) 

So it is said. So I have found among most of our kind.