Rain

The rain pours down on the cobble streets of Bree, overflowing the fountain near the Pony, flooding the lower parts of the city, drowning bug life and filling small ditches. The patter of it creates the familiar white noise, and soaks all who find themselves under it this sunset. As dusk threatens its arrival, Stitches leans his back against a wall, tucked behind an alley and slouching over himself, long since having let his cloak fall from his shoulders.

Bread, Stitches's horse, grunts softly and shakes out his long mane again, freeing it of the pesky drops of water that drizzle from the sky, only to have it dampen and soak once again mere moments later. He trots a hoof on the ground, as though trying to shake the attention of his companion. Stitches had been this way for some time, though it was different at first.

While i write this the storm is above me for last half of a day, without any source that could take away boredom of waiting under the bloody rock of the ruin till the flood of the sky passes i use this old journal of someone who is very mopey about the woman he loved, then he cheated on her cause he was drunk (like that never happened to me), wich made him take next caravan to nowhere to escape the womans husband.