The way she continued to look at me was not unnerving anymore.
as I have traveled the lands of Eriador, I have seen the same look in many people's eyes. The Dúnedain have always been noticed by all beings as set apart. For one there are few and those of us left are a hardy race who prefer the company of elves or solitude to the presence of the more crude men in the villages such as Bree. For another they think that a lifestyle such as mine leads to an unhinged aura, or at least that's what they think they see in me and my fellow rangers. What they do not realize is that we are descendants of a prouder race than theirs our stature is a remnant of the mighty kings of Númenor. I stand six foot at thirty years old, but with a ranger's life span I will likely gain another two or three inches before I reach my full height and enter my prime which is relatively short for a Dúnedan and as I am hardly taller than the local men that I am spying on she is most likely wondering at what most people do. To them the valiant history of the second age are fairy tales but the brightness in my eye is from the elvish in my blood and my formidable presence comes from the weight of a majestic inheritance of power. Now the girl has realized that I can see her and quickly turns away and I refocus my attention on my mark. The man I am watching is one of the most honest but loudmouthed villagers in Bree. I wish to return home as soon as can be managed and although I wouldn't mind entering into conversation with breelanders, they are always wary of rangers and I can obtain news and information faster by simply eavesdropping on a few hobbits or Bree men. This one has dark brown hair, a jovial face and dirty clothes from working his humble field just outside of the gate. Currently, he is talking to the large innkeeper Butterbur and his assistant, Nob, I think, the man is Barney Thistlewool. Their conversation is starting to get more serious as the initial greetings are over and only my sharp ears can hear their topic.
"How much of your crop this year are you shipping to the shire?" Asked the innkeeper. "Nearly all" came barny's reply "the hobbits are rebuilding faster than what I thought but for now they still can't grow anything in the soil this season, it's too late"
I had talked to Sam shortly before I came here and he had told me as much. The shire had rid itself of Sauramon but it would take a generation before his devastation could be undone. The door opens and two surly men enter with foul looks and I can tell that they have traveled. As they sit and nob serves them, butternut returns to barny. "I hardly can bear serving them" he says " I would rather Bill just wander off to live with his dark friends away from bree" Barney looks mildly confused, "whotcha got against ferny?" he's bad business and I've began to take him as a dark omen." " you see, a little over a year ago I had a little company of hobbits in here" Barney looked up "I think I might know of the hobbits that you're talking about" Butterbur nods " I would think you would, that was the most disruptive night that the prancing pony has ever seen I lost four good plates and two of my mugs, but anyways, the hobbits that did the disappearing act was none other than Frodo Baggins and on the same night that ranger strider joined them and fled Bree to never be seen again until of course Frodo's return last month" Barney looked interested but confused "how does Ferny play in?" "Well" said the barliman "the hobbits and the ranger left being chased by terrifying hooded men on black horses and Ferny seemed in some kind of pact with the riders. Just last month to, he was in league with the plague of wretches mucking up the shire." Barney understood now and they both lookedwithBill with his companion who were themselves deep in talk making drawings and looking sinister. When the pair saw the attention from Butterbur and the looks from other patrons they stood and left. Their exit takes them directly past me and though my hood is hiding my face I catch a whiff.
Orc