Kingsfell

At evening often it happens yet,

When the rest of our night is free,

That a veteran old from the war is met,

And we chat about Ynel of Bree.

　

Though sullen the man may have been before,

More kindly his face now grows,

And his gray moustache doth a curl come o'er,

And smile on his visage grows.

　

He thinks how oft from the battle-plain,

or from long-day's travel incur

And wearied, came he a pint to drain,

in the Prancing Pony with her.

　

It had been yet another hard day's work on the farm. Now it was the middle of the night and Eolair lay in bed beside his wife, Mariah, getting some well-earned rest. His two sons lay in a bed closeby, just one and three years old. They would make good farmers when they were older. Eolair turned over, disturbed by some sound, but did not awaken as it was not a sound he associated with his cattle and therefore couldn't be worth waking for.