Cymaru

Ice was clinging to the window panes, creating a myriad of patterns across the surface. A biting wind whistled through the minute cracks in the frames. Joy pinned her shawl about her shoulders and shuddered lightly. She was sat amongst the tomes of the scholars stair, candle light flickering against the winter gloaming light, cascading patterns and shadows across the dusty room. In front of her lay several crisp sheets of text.

I never really liked Bree. The grey town in the heart of Eriador was filled with old houses and grey brickwalls, a sign of an architecture of the poor. It was here I once came when I decided to move and care for my own.

Guards were posted, fires lit in the twilight. The group settled down for the night just north of the great east road.