[Mithadan]

Mithadan had crossed the Greyflood at Tharbad more than ten days before, but was yet to reach Sarn Ford. After a pleasant enough night in the Inn at Tharbad, he had run into trouble just a few miles further along the road. Three men on horseback had approached the road from the east, and upon spying him, had spurred their horses to a run and drawn swords.

He had led them on a merry chase along the road until it reached a cutting in a small hill. Catching a glimpse of more men on the hill, he turned off the path to the southwest, crashing trough some light brush before entering a pine forest. The branches had torn rents in his cloak and scratched his face until his steed's hoofbeats became muffled on the needle-strewn ground beneath the pines.

He kept his horse at a fast trot as they dodged between treetrunks, then turned to the west as his the sound of his pursuit faded behind him. Not trusting to luck, he continued riding long into the night before he turned back to the north and searched for a place to rest.

When he resumed his journey the next morning, his surroundings were covered with thick underbrush causing him to make frequent detours, usually towards the west. Then the underbrush gave way to a boggy area which turned him again to the southwest. Although he turned north at the earliest opportunity, he never did find the road, instead coming upon the banks of the Baranduin. He followed the river north and east, and as night fell on his eleventh day out from Tharbad, he at last caught a glimpse from a hilltop of the road as it wound toward the Ford.

He washed as best he could in the shallows of the river. The cold water stung the cuts and scratches on his face as he scrubbed at his cheeks and the beard which had grown during the past several days. He looked down ruefully at his roadworn and torn clothing and scratched at the itch caused by the beard. He laughed quietly for a moment. I must look quite the rascal, he thought. Then he grew more serious. Between the bandits and other delays of the road, he was nearly five days behind schedule. He should have reached Hobbiton by now, but, if he were lucky, he would barely reach the borders of the Shire by midday the next day. Hungry and tired, he spread a blanket on the ground and fell into a deep slumber almost immediately.