Stamper

It's been an hour since my last meal, and nearly a day since my meal before that. Aside from a few cakes and biscuits I managed to pack, my diet has become rather scanty. My thoughts have remained with Blackberry, and some good news and fortune regarding her dire situation has seemed to inspire hope in me, and of course replenished my natural appetite.

The eve of winter is starting and with it coming the dry, empty air with the smell of spice and smoke. Fortunately, I find this time of year rather pleasant, as it provides an excuse for more partying and drinking, and reason for getting a new hat.

It is unusual for a Hobbit to stray too far from the comforts of his home, even more unusual is to do so and enjoy it. A week ago I was clanking mugs in friendship with some Big Folk after supper, and now I find myself behind this soiled parchment, alone with ale, and curious. While the past has gifted me with many moments of solitude, it still remains quite simple to find the comfort in familiarity.

A strange city, Bree is. It is most unusual in nature, but nonetheless welcoming on my first visit in nearly two decades. As a farmer I've become accustomed to the odor of mud and horse droppings, but still found myself a bit disturbed by the overwhelming and lingering stench of these throughout this city of the Big Folk. The buildings are tall, and the clanging of steel and roaring of voices seem to make the city never sleep.