[Cimmerian]

The soft honeyed and pale-gold streaks of the first rays of the new day sun fell across the fresh dew covered blades of emerald green grass swaying in the fresh early morning wafts of pleasant breeze that caressed across the tall, gray tree covered landscape rolling on for miles and miles. Far ahead in the horizon, clouds of billowy white floated over the icy peaks of the far off misty mountains that rose majestically to make an imposing barrier across the vast expanse of the shimmering horizon.

Barocas rode on his pony and marveled at the view before him with eyes widened in awe and expectation. Glancing across at Dinodas, he noticed that the young hobbit lad had a look of equal wonderment in his bright eyes. Amaranth too felt excited as she tossed her head and looked around. Her large wondering eyes surveyed the lands they were about to travel until their gaze settled on the large hobbit. She softened her gaze as she saw the youthful look of exuberance on his large, chubby face. A look of boyish wonder in anticipation of a great journey ahead.

Shrill and sweet birdsongs rent the air around them as their ponies began their steady trot onward. As their journey progressed, birds of many sizes and hues filled their field of vision. The densely wooded land around them was home to many kinds of feathered animals of the air.

“Such beautiful birds and so sweet they sound,” sighed Amaranth.

“Aye, it is a wonderful place, so peaceful and tranquil.” Dinodas chimed in.

Yes,” agreed Barocas, “but you have to watch out for their droppings, such creatures are notorious for pelting unsuspecting passers-by from above in the air as they fly over.”

“Still, the wonderful sight and sounds they make are worth taking a few peltings.” Laughed Dinodas.

“I agree,” smiled Amaranth, ‘what kind of place is this, Barocas… have you been here before?”

“Aye that I have, but briefly.” Barocas nodded. “This place has no name, or none that I know of, it is some kind of bird land.”

The happy chirruping of the birds grew louder as the three awe-struck travelers moved on further into the rich, dense, jade foliage. Golden streaks of the sun’s warming rays broke through the dark canopy like illuminations of divinity. The atmosphere there was one close to heaven if such a lace did indeed exist. Never the less as all good things come to and end so did their passage through the rich forest of birds.

“That was a beautiful experience, Barocas.” Dinodas nodded smiling.

Barocas nodded in agreement and grumbled as he scraped off some of the new hues that the birds had bestowed upon his somber tunic and hat. Amaranth laughed even as she did the same.

“Do we head for bree now, friends.” The pluckly hobbit lass asked.

“We already are on the way,” said Barocas, trying to be less gruff.

“Look!” cried Dinodas, pointing to a dark, billowy cloud of dust in the far horizon that steadily appeared to grow larger as they progressed. “What do you think that is?”

“It could be trouble,” the fat hobbit muttered as he struggled to unsheathe his short sword from it’s leather worn scabbard that hung loosely from the belt that barely held up his leggings over his generous midriff. “But fear not, Barocas has lived through many a battle to tell of their tale, some of which he intends to narrated to his grandchildren one day.” He grinned at Amarath, whose eyes widened. Hoping that the plucky hobbit lass would blush, Barocas was dismayed when she snorted instead and grabbed two frying pans, which she intended to use as her means of defense. Dinodas too brought to hand his weapon of choice, though with much more relative ease than his large, girthsome companion. “Let them come,” the young hobbit lad whispered, “We shall be ready for them.

“Aye lad, that we shall,” boomed Barocas as Amaranth winced at his decibel level.

The dark, billowy cloud of dust grew larger and larger as the three hobbits baraced themselves on their mounts. The ponies neighed loudly and cantered about from side to side in well-founded anxiety. “It comes!” Barocas growled.

With a sudden, ear splitting scream, the could of dust halted to a stand still, a few arm lengths in front to the three travelers. Dinodas and Amaranth glanced at Barocas as if awaiting his command to attack. Barocas waited with bated breath as the dust cleared to reveal a tall man, in dirty grayed robes, his long beard and hair was gray and covered in dust from the road. He wore a long pointed hat on his large head; its tip was pulled down over his forehead, hiding his large bushy eyebrows beneath which eyes of seemingly blue stared out from. Though he had been moving towards them with considerable speed, there was no steed beneath him as his bared feet stood strongly planted on the hard packed soil. His thin dry lips twisted upward in an attempt to smile even as his eyes struggled to twinkle. “Little people,” he said hoarsely, and licked his dry lips.

“Goodness,” screeched Amaranth, “does he intend to eat us?”

“What!” screamed Dinodas and held up his sword in reflex, his young body trembled.

“No, he does not!” Barocas said calmly as he sheathed his rusted short sword. “He is an old wizard, I have heard of him on my travels, though this is the first time I have seen his so close.”
The tall old man cocked his head and smiled down at the three hobbits, his long bony fingers of each hand clasped each other in a grip of satisfaction and salutation.

“Where are you off to, my little friends?” he croaked, his eyes twinkling.

“We seek others like us and we will travel to Bree for supplies before we embark on our journey.” Dinodas piped up, now feeling completely at ease with this bright-eyed stranger.

“This is Barocas, this Dinodas and I am Amaranth,” the plucky hobbit lass joined in, “What is you name?”

“It’s best we not know,” interrupted Barocas, “Lest some enemy of his capture us and torture us to find out his whereabouts and real name.”

“Well, I never…” objected the old man.

“Tell us how you travel with such swift speed without a mount…” Dinodas asked innocently, and Barocas smiled, relieved for having the topic being changed.

“I run…” replied the old man, a look of dejection clouded his face.

“Right!” said Barocas, “We have to be on our way.”

“I have seen others like you, over beyond the misty mountains.” The old man cackled, feeling important all of a sudden.

“Good!” replied Barocas, half smiling, “We were headed that way anyhow, now we can be further motivated. Fare well, old wizard.”

“But, I…”

“Goodbye!” cried the three hobbits in unison and kicked their ponies onward, leaving the old man gaping.

“I was hoping for a good meal and a smoke,” he mumbled to himself, “And maybe tell of a few good tales while we were at it, but… ah, impetuous children, let them run off.”

With that the old man flopped himself down on the hard ground, whipped out a pipe and began stuffing pipe weed into it, humming himself a sad tune.

When the three hobbits reached the make shift gates of Bree, it had grown quite dark and clouded. Little silvered flecks of snow drifted down all around them. Filling the atmosphere with a sense of charmed euphoria and wonderment. But soon the stale rank of the surrounding town that struggled to grow brought the three intrepid adventurers back to reality. Dismounting, Barocas proceeded to ring the bell at the gates.