Bree

The gentle cawing of birds sifted through the open pane. The scent of a spring morn and grass clearing the dust and cobwebs. Joy awoke as the breeze drifted across her skin, raising her head from the table which had left its grain upon her cheek. The house was relatively still, which she was thankful of; it meant she had not overslept, or so the thoughts told her as they ran about her still sleep ridden mind. She was exhausted but she was able to find the effort to raise herself from her chair and wander over toward the bedroom.

The sun had lowered itself beyond that of the western hills of Bree, the sky now blanketed in a deep iridescent red, clear of all clouds. The inside of the Pony was quiet for dusk, a brief flurry of patrons had been and gone and passed to more private quarters. A gentle song resonated about the walls of the near empty inn, clear and light in melody. Upon closer inspection the source of such a voice flowed out from behind the worn wooden counter and tankards. A woman raised herself from behind it, placing a cloth against the ale spattered counter and lightly resting one arm against it.