Geoack

The door was as still.

It did not shift one bit, nor did anyone come inside. Quite an unusual fact for the Prancing Pony, taking in regard it was one of the few attractions found in Bree, if not the only one. Even stranger, one would think, since it was the rush hour. The inn was filled with the humming sound of speech, resembling a beehive. At least two dozens of travellers had walked through the threshold in the past hour, but now the doorknob seemed as if it had frozen in place for eternity.