Bree

Bree. Such an insignificant little place, yet the pomposity within these hedge walls is quite overwhelming in its frequency. Every man, dwarf and halfling seems to be for himself, barely stretching their horizons beyond the nearest tavern. It was quite a shock returning from so long alone in my own thoughts and company to civilisation that stands in such stark contrast to that from which I have come. Melliea would oft tell me tales of Gondor her homeland, painting a vivid picture with words and eventually letters.

                  Since she was born and leaned to walk, she always went over the edge, edge of room, yard or town. Bold and unwise just as her father, always seeking, always wishing for a breath of fresh air while riding on open road or paths. She crossed many lines, borders of decent behavior, decent life among others. While other girls were learning how to cook or sew, she was in mud and blood to her knees traveling with fathers company.

"Branson! I'm delighted to see you again, my most timely rescuer. I hope you didn't get lost this time?"
"No, this place was easy enough to find in the daylight."
"I'm glad. Sit, sit. My father will join us shortly."

Gwennol rolled up the hide tent, lashing it tight with leather straps leaning it against a tree. She slung on her bag, picking up her staff before whistling for Cysgod to begin her morning foraging. The sound of thundering hooves were heard suddenly and she turned, her long hair whipping around as she held her staff. A heavy dark chestnut horse galloped towards her, the hulking like rider glimpsed as it pounded towards her through the trees. It was nearly abreast of the young woman who tensed to dart out of its path and turned to run.

Rhyva,

Constable G. Townsend
Wednesday Evening to Thursday Morning
Patrol Log Entry 2
Mild Activity