[Kransha]

Kalimac Whitfoot sat comfortably in the muddled hay on the cart he had obtained for this trip. It was a beautiful day, contrasting the murky nights of Bree, and Kalimac swelled slightly, breathing in the fresh air. A warm sun shone down on the town, bathing the countless thatched and wooden roofs in beams light. Kalimac scanned the town, looking for the final time at the place which had been his home for all his life. He looked out at the stone-hewn buildings of Bree, all sitting in uniform ranks alongside the unpaved roads. The Halfling’s half-closed eyes, as weary as the rest of him after hefting many of his family’s keepsakes to this gate and placing them carefully in the cart, looked back through the open eastern gate and over the rickety causeway that led out of Bree. The small bridge-like structure led over the sloping dyke that surrounded Bree and out into the world.

He blinked suddenly, squinting as he looked up at the sphere of light. The hobbit wheeled around, knee deep in the hay, and hopped over to the front of the Whitfoot cart. He had taken his most faithful and strong ponies, Staddle and Archet and had them ready for the journey as he was. The two dappled creatures brayed quietly, seemingly conspiring with their muzzles near. Kalimac chuckled under his breath at the though of two horses scheming or gossiping and turned backward again, looking over the hay-filled cart to the onlookers who’d come to see them off.

He recognized many of the folk who’d gathered around, though he didn’t particular care to know those who he hadn’t met. It didn’t matter anyway, considering he would probably never see any of them again. Thankfully, most of the Whitfoot’s close personal friends were hobbits who had decided to join this expedition, so he would not need to feel any guilt about leaving them behind. Unfortunately, there were a few caustic regrets. The most gnawing of annoyances was his son, Crispin’s, loss. He knew that Crispin did not truly consider it a loss, but he knew very little about what his son thought. It was the separation of his family and the family’s of his children’s friends that most burdened him. Some of Crispin’s and Alora’s childhood friends were remaining in Bree, including that of Crispin’s closest friend, Iris. He tried not to let it cause him too much pain. After all, he had made the right, responsible, sensible decision and his family had not in any way opposed that.

‘I’m over-exaggerating anyway,’ thought Kalimac, more contentedly, ‘They are not even that attached to those remaining. They are all as eager to go as I am and they will surely be happy when we reach our destination west of the Baranduin. Marcho and Blanco are competent hobbits and they won’t lead us astray. We can trust them and everything will go well, without a doubt.’

“Is everyone ready back there?” he said over his shoulder as he saw the leading cart, manned by Marcho and Blanco, begin to move. He heard a surprisingly enthusiastic yelp of acknowledgment from Alora, an affirmative call from Elsa, who had just jumped nimbly onto the vehicle after saying heartfelt goodbyes to all her remaining friends in Bree, and not a word from Crispin, which was certainly unsettling. Kalimac had plenty of friends to bid farewell, but he’d already taken care of all those goodbyes. A moment later, Kalimac heard another form mounting the cart and assumed that it was his son. He heard his eldest child’s voice, but it was mostly muffled by the noises of the crowd and the sounds of rolling wheels, clip-clopping horseshoes on the road, and wagon wheels creaking.

Not waiting for a visible response from Crispin, Kalimac goaded the ponies forward and pulled into the slowly moving ranks of carts and wagons that had begun on their path. He could hear his family and many other families yelling final words to those left behind and waving farewell, but he tried not to glance back. The new life lay ahead of him and the other Whitfoots, not behind in the town of Bree.