Aewind

Thrust, slash, slash, thrust, repeat. A tedious routine, as he had assured her. She did not expect any less.

Runs around camp, some errands for Adso's men. carrying supplies to and fro, negotiating with debtors... Truly, that hobbit had too many foes, and far too much debt.
 

Her sword was blunt, to her own favour, as she challenged the thieves - thrust, slash. Minimal blood was drawn, but her message was clear.
 

She was pampered. That much was true.

The Old Forest. Taboo. Never look there. Never step there.

And yet she walked in - the water bearer.

An exception?
A glance to her resolve.

A choice.

Avoid killing. Never. No matter what.

And yet she thrust her sword at the wolf.

An exception?
A glance to his arm.

A choice.

Treasure? The Bree-folk's whimsical pass-time. Reckless.

Yet she held onto the rope. A livelihood.

An exception?
A glance to their smiles.

A choice.