Tearose arrived in the frozen tundras of Forochel. Not knowing what to expect, she made for the camp called Kauppa-Kohta. It was very cold. “A hobbit could very easily freeze to death here!” Tearose thought ruefully.

She headed towards a campfire quickly to warm up and soon she was joined by some of the tribesmen who stared at her curiously. Most likely they weren’t used to seeing a female hobbit in those parts of Middle Earth.

In the days to come Tearose would surprise them all with her bravery and resilience. Folks never figured she would survive the bitter cold. She did and became somewhat of a heroine in those parts – if you can believe that.

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Tearose, meanwhile, spent a short time at her modest home in the Shire, resting after many days of battle in Angmar. And there was something different about Tearose these days. She was quiet. Tearose is never quiet. She looked like someone who had seen too much. She looked sad. For a hobbit to be sad is very distressing, to say the least.

“Get a hold of yourself, Tearose!” she scolded herself. “There’s no point in worrying about anything.” She stood beside the fire in her parlour and rubbed her hands together as if they were cold.

They soon will be. Tearose was travelling to the frozen plateaus of Forochel. From all accounts it is even colder there than the Misty Mountains.

Tearose shivered. “I better bring something strong to drink so it will warm me quickly, and lots of layers of clothing or I won’t survive.” she thought. She nodded her head resolutely. She was as ready as she would ever be.

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