It was dark, and the white stars were out. It was raining. I approached the West gate of Bree, heading for the Prancing Pony. I found the gate shut, but at the door of the lodge behind it, there was a man sitting. He jumped up and fetched a lantern and looked over the gate at me in surprise. I was soaked to the bone and threw the hood of my father's Lothlorien cloak over me, my face hidden from view. That's the way I liked it, since I left the shire.

"What do you want and where do you come from?" he asked gruffly.

"I am making for the inn of the Prancing Pony. I am journeying east and cannot go further tonight." He stared at me cautiously for a moment, and slowly opened the door to let me through. The street was dark except for the few lamps that lit the walkway. The man went back to his post, and melted into the darkness of the night. From the outside The Prancing Pony looked like a pleasurable place to stay. Right then though the only place I wanted to go was home. I longed to be back in the shire. The sound of laughing and singing could be heard from the inn. I shivered a little and pulled my cloak close to my body. I was covered with mud. I climbed up the wide steps of the inn, and went inside. The innkeeper greeted me.

"Good evening!" He wiped his grimy hands on his apron. I was silent. He tried to see my face, which was still overshadowed by the dark-gray cloak I was wearing.

"What might you be wanting?" he said in a more serious tone.

I responded, "A bed for the night" my voice was weary and I was tired.

"Might I ask your name?" he inquired and he started to fiddle with his apron.

"SilverRain.Mithrael SilverRain if you must know."

He pondered what I had said for a moment and then led me up to my room, and left silently. I placed my things on the bed, and sat down. I didn't want to be here. I got up and walked over to the window. I looked down and outside the window, but I saw nothing. The wind and rain whipped through the streets. My mind was still on the thoughts of the shire. I walked over the small fireplace on the other side of the room. It was laid with bricks all around but it was gray and dusty. I lit a small fire and walked back to my bed and sat down, I leaned my back up against the cold wall. I kicked my muddy boots off and I slid my bow and arrows towards my lap. I ran my finger along the beautiful elven design on the front of the wooden bow, and then stopped unexpectedly. Among the design my father's initials were inscribed on it. I gazed at it for half a minute and I looked down at the arrows in my lap. They were the same deep gray as my cloak. I moved my things onto the floor next to the bed, and curled up on it. I softly sang the song I had learned years ago when I was back in the shire.

I sit beside the fire and think

of all that I have seen,

of meadow-flowers and butterflies

in summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer

in autumns that there were,

with morning mist and silver sun

and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think

of how the world will be

when winter comes without a spring

that I shall ever see.

For still there are so many things

that I have never seen:

in every wood in every spring

there is a different green.

I sit beside the fire and think

of people long ago,

and people who will see a world

that I shall never know.

But all the while I sit and think

of times there were before,

I listen for returning feet

and voices at the door.