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I don't reckon Mr. Eomer did much for this town in the way of trade or craft, but I'll surely miss his queer storytellin' and musings. I remember on a time I says to him, as I's finishing up building him a third wall for his shack, I says, "Now Mr. Eomer, now that you've got a third wall, how's about I go ahead and build you a fourth?"
"Why?" he replies, in his usual way.
"Why?" I says back to him. "Why, without proper walls you'll have mildew and ants in no time, as sure as you've got books and candles now."
"A man who sees a wall no matter which way he turns is a man who is trapped," he says. I took this to mean he didn't have the funds to pay me for a fourth wall.
"Why that's just silly," says I. "You'll have a door and a window to leave when you like." He just chuckled, as he was wont do to, and thanked me for my work.
No, I may not have understood that feller most of the time, but he was friendly in his way, and I'll miss him. At any rate he might not have fallen victim to those fell beasts had he taken my advice about that wall.
I've got my suspicions about who offed Mr. Eomer. That Firefoot, for one. Not two weeks ago I was painting one of her stables and installing new hinges on her doors, and I noticed her horses were all on edge, neighing and stomping an unusual fair bit. The Guy Who Be Short, too, seemed jealous of Mr. Eomer's learning, always trying to show him up at town book readings and the like.
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