Bree.

The fields are cold at night. Mama never warned me of that.
I suppose it is my own doing, this stinking cold I can feel forming in my chest.

Ahead of me is Bree. Before I could see it, I'd heard it. Bustling music, sounds of horses and carriages. I had heard a concert only last night before I set up camp inside this Willow tree.

It feels peculiar to have shorn hair once again. The fire is burning to keep out the winter chill. I do not know why I rode into town the nights past. Only so long you can pace the confines of your study. What to occupy myself with I wonder. There's only so long you can do the books and I would hardly proclaim crossing the i's and dotting the t's and toiling over pages brimming with numbers my idea of leisure. No, I needed to get out of there.

((Follow On of Events from "Finally: the woman, parchment and a messenger come together" > http://laurelinarchives.org/node/13281 <))

Seraile whipped round when he heard steps behind him, only to find a very weather beaten man, walking up to him, warily.

Seraile himself was ragged, worn, his clothes partly tattered; he had been away again, in search for what always evaded him, death, the release from the pain of the world; the slaughter of the North Downs had driven him to madness.

I travelled with Feorh after some days passed with the council of knights. It seems we shall be moving northwards. I took the Greenway toward Trestlebridge, though never made it. Not far from the road clearing was a disturbance amongst grass...an area clearly flattened by something of weight.