Bree-lands

“Did you not have friends in Archet with whom you could confide in such gossip?” Piper asks me over the rim of her mug of cider. We had been talking long at the table in the center of the tavern. (She had caught me outside in the rain, relishing in it, and invited me inside for a drink ere I caught cold).

Oh, my mother would certainly be rolling in her grave this time. I fear I may have offended everyone at the same time. Let me try to recount my day from the beginning...

The first thing I heard was the crashing of waves along the shoreline. The sound was hypnotizing but arrhythmic, no true pattern to be discerned as the ocean crests and falls. It soothes a longing in my soul. I heard the cries of seagulls as they flew overhead, sharp and piercing, but familiar. 

There he was, his old mate, right where Hoggs hoped he would be!  Dwimmer was waiting on the south side of the monument, facing Thorin's Gate on his well packed goat.  Not only could Hoggstari see what looked like bundles of provisions, there was a fair sized keg sitting on top of the packs that were positioned behind Dwimmer.  The Outfitter could always count on his friend to think of everything important to Dwarven exploration.

The wind blew through the tall Man's unkept hair and rough beard, as he stood upon his horse and atop the grassy hill. He could now feel the weight of his gear, his swords sheathed inside their well-made scabbards hanging down from his back, the armored pads on his shoulders and the leather belt around his strong waist  Finally his boots, made of fine black leather, carrying pieces of dried mud and dust, a sign of the long road that lied behind him, now almost to an end.