When Ballanor travelled to the Shire, she was curious about hobbits. Were most of these folks really oblivious to the trouble that was on their doorstep and threatened their very existence? “Yes”, Ballanor thought to herself. “They are so naive. Little do they know that some of their own kinfolk are the bravest warriors.”

In her travels, Ballanor would meet many such hobbits. Hardy and brave souls who willing stand beside men, elves, and dwarves, battling fouled creatures in the wild, and all manner of evil minions of the Enemy. The day would come when these hobbits would return to raise the Shire. And they would triumph.

For now, many parts of this fair land was untouched by evil. Some of the animals seemed a bit agitated and there were rumours of stray gangs of outlaws and some goblins but all in all, evil has been kept at bay. For how much longer, Ballanor couldn’t say. But she vowed to protect the Shire.

And so for several months, Ballanor never travelled too far from the Shire. And hobbits came to know her and would stare at her in wonder. Ballanor, the Rune-keeper from Edhellond, had become somewhat of a heroine in those parts.

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Having had a short rest during the Spring festival, Pareth received a message from Elrond of Rivendell. He had dispatched scouts to follow the path of the Company to make sure that no signs of their passing were left behind for the Enemy to discover. Pareth was to meet with these scouts and help them.

Pareth was sent by one of the appointed scouts to the Gap of Rohan and she climbed up to the tower to see if she could spot any signs of the Company’s passing.

The view from the tower was breathtaking. Pareth saw no trace of the travellers. She dared not stay too long for soon she heard the howling of wolves. They were close and from the sounds of it, they were a large hungry pack.

“Let them come”, she thought defiantly. She applied fire oil to her arrows. She was ready for battle, but she rode quickly back to the road. High above her, foul crebain – the spies of the Enemy- circled, watching her every move.

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Tearose was tired. The bitter cold drained her of all vitality. She had to get to a campfire quickly. She felt weak and her pony snorted in distress. The poor fellow was cold too. Tearose all alone in this frozen wasteland, was suicide. She wasn’t dressed warmly enough, despite the layers she had on. Hobbits don’t generally need what these people wear up here, you see.

Tearose rested in Pynti-peldot. It was hours before she felt warm enough. Later, some of the local people transported her by sled out of Forochel and into the milder climate in Tyrn Fornech. They had wrapped her in warm furs and gave her something strong to drink. She was ready to travel to and rest again in Tinnudir before returning to her home in the Shire.

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