Loriwen Snowberry, 6 Long Street, Wildore, Bree-land
I’m sure this is a bit odd, writing letters to you. Not only could you not read when you were alive, you’re gone now. Well, I miss you something fierce and it’s comforting to write to you, as if you’re here. I have a few odd behaviors, and another private one won’t hurt anyone, now will it? Not really, I think.
I’ve finally come out of my shell after being sick for such a long time. That plague took a greater toll on me than I thought it would, it put me in bed for two whole weeks! You would have probably scolded me for heading off into the night the way I did, but it had to be done. That poor little girl and her brother wouldn’t have made it without that help, I just know it. It was worth getting sick, in order to help them. I’m sure you’d agree in the end…leastways, after I got better. My appetite was higher than normal for quite some time, guess I was regaining my strength. I’m all back to normal now. At least, as normal as I’ll ever get. I’ve been trying to get better about my footing.. managed to fall off a bridge a little while back, although that rightly wasn’t my fault. My horse stepped on a particularly sharp stone and lost her footing. I managed to fall off when she was stumbling.. and it just happened to be on a bridge. Fell right into the river, cut my face up but good. I’m a bit concerned this small scar will stay there. I hope not. But then again, me falling.. what’s new about that? Hah! Such a boring letter, even when I’m not going to send it. I’ve never been good at writing letters.
Being so sick really puts a damper on one’s spirits. I finally cleaned up Dad’s old farmhouse. It was pretty devastated by the floods. I thought long and hard on the decision, and I moved out. Sold the place. I’m surprised I got the funds I did from it, but then again.. farmland is the lifeblood of Bree. I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised that old Wheatley wanted more land. Took the money and bought myself a quiet little house in a lovely town called Wildore. I have a small garden, enough to feed myself but good. Still don’t cook. Don’t trust myself to, I think. I’m clumsy enough without adding fire into the mix! Instead of cooking, I’ve gotten myself into brewing. It’s really quite basic, once you get used to the formula for good ale.
You’d be proud of me. As I said up a ways, I’ve been coming out of my shell. My brewing has turned out to be a surprisingly good tool to meet friends. I finished up a particularly interesting batch of ale, a basil blackberry ale, and invited my new neighbors to come along and try it. It got mostly good remarks, as well as a few unsure “interesting”s. I met a rather interesting man while out at the Pony one night, looking for friends to invite to my ale tasting. It’s a bit embarrassing how it happened, but I imagine you’d laugh and shake your head, given how like me it is. I was talking with an acquaintance of mine on the front stoop when someone else ran up to talk to him. I backed up, and managed to fall right off! It wasn’t too far a drop, I wasn’t hurt…just extremely embarrassed. This kind man hopped down and helped me stand up. Something about him struck me, I can’t rightly explain it. I had an overwhelming urge to invite him as well, stranger or not. So I did!
My tasting went off beautifully, everyone had a wonderful time. It was quite nice to meet my neighbors and create some new friendships. With dark talk from far away lands reaching our ears, everyone can use all the friends they can get, I think. But I’d rather not talk about such sad topics. My tasting was wonderful fun, but in truth, I can’t remember much of it. I spent most of my time talking with the man who helped me up at the Pony. His name is Tarlanc. Just Tarlanc. He’s from Gondor, they don’t much care for surnames down there. When you really look at it, he’s a rather uninteresting man at first glance, and even second glance. That said, it doesn’t stop me from being very interested in him for some reason. I can’t explain it. I wish you were here, I’m sure you would have some wonderful words for me, followed by your finger wagging. Is it normal to be involuntarily drawn to a person? I may be speaking out of turn here, since we’ve only truly spoken that one time, but I find something fascinating about him. I wonder if he feels anything similar to me. Ah, well. I’m used to being ignored or rejected by those I find interesting. I suppose this will be much the same. Leastways, it will be once he sees just how clumsy I am.
Ah, I do miss you, Grams. I miss you so. You’d no doubt be warming up some chamomile tea for me and scolding me about being a starry-eyed fool at my age. And you’re right, of course. I shouldn’t think of someone so much after one meeting, I really shouldn’t. I think I’ll go put on a kettle myself and pretend your harsh but well-meant words are flowing my way once again. I do love and miss you and Dad, Grams. A lot.
Your little pumpkin,