After weeks of crossing the wilderness, we have finally reached Bree.
What a sad little town.
I think Father also thought of something else when he spoke of the place. Or when those strangers spoke of it, that time in Aldburg.
The streets are narrow, lined with small round stones that hurt our horses' feet, and it stinks. The people are mean and their eyes speak of fear. They have not the pride of men of the Mark.
But how could it be different, here in the middle of the wilderness?
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Witimanu
