Upon return to this bittersweet nest of memories, I found my old room no longer vacant, and the landlord unwilling to push out the current occupant. Even the sweetened offer of a pouch of silver did nothing. I will take a room here at the Prancing Pony then, until I sort out more proper lodgings.
The tavern downstairs smelled of the past. The smoke and ale and sweat of the locals filled my nostrils and brought to mind faces I have not seen for many months. I wonder if any of my old friends still haunt these noisy streets and alleyways. A man seemed to take peculiar offense when I committed the unpardonable sin of noticing the beauty of his female company. He was foolish enough to bump against me, but wise enough to keep his mouth shut. Not a promising way to spend my first evening back in Bree-town. I hope the nights to come will be populated with more friendly and reasonable folk.
Butterbur remains a resourceful and useful man for information about the local goings-on. He mentioned a boarding house of good repute in a village just a few miles away. Perhaps I will look into it as a residence for the summer. Already this room is needling at my senses. The mattress smells of pipe-smoke and I can hear an amorous couple down the hall who've had too much to drink and don't know to keep it down for the sake of their neighbors.
But then, we've all been fools at one time or another.
