The Bree watch

It was early afternoon when Fiontann closed the door and leaned against it. His knees and hands were shaking and his breath was labored, he was pale and felt weak and scared at the same time. Scared that the company had made an irreversible mistake. One that they shouldn’t. He started to sweat.

-Here. Said Dawn and dropped another stack of parchments on the bed next to Fiontann. The man looked up at her and let out a sigh.
-What's this? I've filled two stacks already and I am halfway through the third.
-We just got a report for speeding through Trestlebridge too. Scared the folks, caused damage, what you did in Bree but in a smaller scale.
-We were in a hurry...
-And this is the price of a hurry. Said Dawn and walked out of the cell.
-At least it's quiet in here. Said Fiontann.

After a hard day's work the evening found Fiontann laying his hammock and contemplating, in his right hand he had his pipe, a thick cloud of smoke was around him and on the ground a big jar of ale. Every now and then he'd reach for the jar to take a sip before laying back again to smoke, it was a clear sky, but slightly cold, autumn is close and it starts to show. Fion laid there enjoying the quiet and his drink, looking at the stars and hearing the neekerbreekers' noises from the other side of Chetwood. A good night, pleasant.

The whole day passed by with Aallan still wandering in his cell.  Soon supper came from Aggie's cooking.  Onion soup with bread.  He went straight away to drinking the soup, while of course complimenting her craft and the beauty most would not see about her.  Silence was constant except for Adalbart and Corrben discussing how to handle the public sentencing.  Minutes passed on end with barely anything to do except make small talk with the lovely woman with a scar.

I’m finding it difficult to put my thoughts to paper today.

It would take a novel to recount the events in their entirety. I will not try to.

There was little sleep to be had. The overnight guards' voices, the shuffling of boots passing her cell, the occasional lecherous whisper of the other prisoners, all served to deny her any slumber.

It was yesterday since Aallan sent the letter to the man who called himself his father.  The night prior, he had already thought of a plan to escape once the meeting between father and son was finished or went wrong for the latter.

To set this implementation, he had gathered ten bows from the hapless Blackwolds in Chetwood, where he was residing at this time.  In addition, he found five long coils of rope in their hideout.