#A Season of Hunger

She saw fields of tall, golden wheat. The sun beat down, too much. It grew larger, angrier, and a roaring fire engulfed the feilds in a flash.

She saw white flowers, stained in blood. Puddles of water turned a burning orange, and flames overtook the flowers.

She saw herself, looking up, as legions of fishing hooks flew for her, tips glistening. Then, flames overtook again.

Pedhir stepped out of the Comb and Wattle Inn, wrapping his green cloak around his shoulders. He had come to the conclusion that, while he would continue to explore and traipse about the Northwestern region of Middle Earth, Bree seemed to be a social hub and he would, therefore, make his own hub of sorts; a modest cottage just North of Bree-town. However, if he was going to build a home for himself, he would need to acquire supplies. Thankfully, he now had the necessary lumber out of the way after his meeting with the head of the Combe lumber mill.

Relief flooded Eira as Nimraph charged in. She stepped back, chosing to be defense while Nimraph attacked. She shouted, "Get lost! My husband won't show the same mercy I have!" 

One of the men hestated, taking a step back. The other let out a battle cry and charged Nimraph. Eira backed into the wagon, aware of Dammon crying. Meanwhile, the second robber had turned and fled.

Eira rode in the wagon, holding a sleeping Briar as Dammon tried to doodle despite the bumpy path. Eira was half asleep herself, looking out into the dead wilds. The grasses were brown, the river was almost dried up. Sadness flooded her chest as she blinked slowly. The group approached the bridge. Nimraph frowned looking around at the landscape. He emitted a soft sigh, "I do think we made the right choice..."

"It's so sad..." Eira frowned, "I know we made the right choice, but I'm scared for everyone we're leaving behind."

Eira's hand fell across her stomach, gazing beyond the library's gazebo into the angry summer sky. Not a cloud was above her. The gazebo usually had a fanciful fountain working with flowing, rich waters. Now, the well was dried up and hot from the sun's relentless beatings. The drought was taking its tole… She closed her eyes, looking back to the previous night.