During Cutch’s seventeenth year, the Dwarven trade routes across Eriador became his home. From Ered Luin to the Trollshaws, and from Forochel to Enedwaith, the ponderous wheels of ox-drawn wagons rumbled him, with his Dwarf companions and their wares, across the leagues and months ever in search of the perfect deal, where Dwarf parted with fair goods for greater treasure. For days after departing one market, their conversations would decry the ignorance those “who would not know a good deal if it jumped down their throats and choked them”, or would swap competing boasts of brilliant transactions proving the superior acumen of one dwarf over another. Cutch would sit quietly and listen, greatly entertained by good-natured, back pounding chides and dares. Invariably, his silence would not be left undisturbed, as twinkling eyes and interrogating voices would probe him for an awareness of business he was never quick enough to acquire.
He proved his worth every day, however, as on the road he was the hunter, fisherman, and cook that kept bottomless bellies full, and at marketplaces had the best sight and scent for the fresh vegetables and meats that should bless the dwarves’ pots and spits over his expertly dug campfires. Their nights were full of raucous music and hearty foot-flinging dance, and Cutch was taught the way to respect and enjoy excellent brew. Cutch also took his turn on horse to scout ahead for campsites or trail behind to catch sign of brigands who may be wolfishly tracking the caravans as prey.
The Dwarves had laid out their trade routes carefully, with warehouses strategically located around Eriador. The most central of these was in the Dwarf Quarter of Bree, a town which readily welcomed all the Free Peoples, and was positioned at the crossroads of The South Road and The Great East Road. Sometimes his caravan would only begin or end there, as the stores were great and would either need replenishment or be distributed to make room for more.
For Cutch the Bree-lander, this meant that, interspersed with his travels to the extreme ends of Eriador, he would still revisit familiar places and keep in touch with family and friends near home. He would remark at how nothing back home seemed to change, and those he visited would marvel at how much he had grown. Each time, they saw Little Man moving with a bit more confidence, his boyish uncertainty and occasional recklessness fading. Under the wings of his dwarven companions, he was discovering his manhood.
Life with a trade caravan was not without its dangers. The more ground one covered, the more opportunities arose for unexpected interruptions. Sometimes, it was no more than a sudden turn of the weather, for which the experienced traveler is well prepared, and dwarves are nothing if not prepared to travel. Sometimes, the threat was far more dire, and the worst of these happened to Cutch on his last caravan as it returned to Ered Luin and Thorin’s gate from Evendim.
