Prancing Pony, 18 Solmath 1312 Shire Reckoning [8 February 2912 Third Age]

At last! My goodness, what a bitter winter! I have been plagued by heavy snowfall the past day and a half. The wind is relentless, even at this time of year. It would seem the early thaw we enjoyed back in the Shire did not extend east of the Brandywine.

Nevertheless, I am comfortably ensconced in the Prancing Pony, a most worthy establishment run by the esteemed Orbrun Butterbur. He has seen to my comforts with a Hobbit-sized room on the ground floor, complete with a cozy parlor and comfortable bedroom. I think I shall stay here a few days; there are several local Hobbits whose company I've been invited to join. Not a few of them are well-traveled in this area, and have promised to aid me in my quest.

There are a good many Big Folk here in Bree, which at first is a little off-putting. I shall develop a sore neck from so much peering upward. A few go about cloaked and hooded in dark greens and browns, and Mr. Butterbur appears suspicious of them. He calls them 'Rangers' and advises I should give them a wide berth.

Perhaps a stodgy Chubb or Bracegirdle might nod cheerfully and heed his warning, but what is the use of that? I resolve to corner and question the first unkempt, travel-stained Ranger I see, for only one who has spent a goodly amount of time tramping about in the wilds could look quite as rough-shod as that! I contend that such experience will help more than hinder me, so I shall avail myself of their wisdom.

At the moment, however, I am quite done in. After several days on shorter and shorter rations - reduced to merely three meals a day, and scant ones at that - I am quite full to bursting from amending that shortfall. I will join my new friends on the morrow.