Weathertop, 23 Solmath 1312 Shire Reckoning [13 February 2912 Third Age]

Oh my, this wind! The howling of it is near as loud as those wolves that came across the Brandywine months ago. Here at the foot of Weathertop lies a sheltered dale, and that is where I have set my camp. My toes are warming by a small fire as I write. From the map Mr. Colbaran so graciously drew for me, I am certain not to see one speck of civilization between here and the mountains, for the land surrounding is quite barren. I have had to be clever in securing meals, preserving as much of my cold rations as possible in favor of foraged foodstuffs. How ever do plant-eating beasts survive in such conditions? Nearly all I've been able to scrounge from beneath a foot of snow and a layer of rotted leaves is nuts and cones, neither of which presents a savory meal. My little cookpot can make nothing of them.

I shall have to tighten my belt, I suppose, and be on constant watch for anything moving about. I've a pocket full of pitching stones ready should a fox or raven poke its nose out.