Threland

Upon Journeying to the Shire he hears a thunrder. On a rock he hops and gazes around; weather dark, skies ready to erupt. Such strange beauty has the landscape gives an unexpected peaceful feeling. A drop falls, then another and another, and with a smile he extends an arm for a meaningless catch. You just can't hate a bit of harmless drizzle, he thinks. In fact, there's nothing to hate in the lands of the Halflings. He straightens his hat, slides down the rock on the moist earth and carries on, a step after the other.