[Strider]

It was a glorious day in the Shire - the heavens were a resplendent cerulean shot through with the needle-like rays of the magnificent sun, who seemed to be in a particularly blithe mood this afternoon for she embraced the hills with her fair golden arms. The clouds overhead were bright as starlight, thus affirming that the near future would remain warm and dry.

The great beast approached the inn like a fierce wind--a mottled grey blur penetrating the sweet country air like a dogged apparition--with all the speed, grace, and uncanny subtlety commonly associated with Elven-bred steeds. The horse was saddleless, bridleless, without any restraint; this was apparent not only in the naked gleam of his muzzle and flank, but in the way he flew freely along the cobbled path.

Despite the stallion’s lack of confinement he was not altogether without “burden”, for atop his bear back rested a tall and proud ellon, though the way horse and rider moved in tandem alluded to the fact that they were but one figure. When the Green Dragon’s stables were within clear eyesight, the elf placed a long-fingered hand on his companion’s muscled shoulder before exclaiming, “Tampa, Su’Tal. En!” Stop, Su’Tal. Look!

The creature tossed his magnificent head, silver mane flickering as if shot with jewels in the yellow afternoon lighting, and whinnied in acknowledgement of his master’s command. Slowing to a speedy halt before the humble grouping of wooden stalls, Su’Tal snorted satisfyingly and awaited the ellon’s next order. Dismounting in one swift and passively powerful motion, the firstborn raised a finely etched brow amusedly at the quaint hostelry and patted his companion on the neck, pointing towards the stables, “Yallume. Eh, Su’Tal? Esta sinome.” At last. Eh, Su’Tal? Rest here.

Nodding his proud head twice, the stallion made his way, with dignity, towards the wooden arch to which he was directed, where he at once glimpsed master Meriadoc. The elf watched his sporting steed disappear with a slight bend to his lips before following the small path before him and mounting the short and broad stairs of the Green Dragon’s front porch.

Reaching for the latch with supple fingers, he pulled back the heavy wooden door to receive a torrent of a melting pot of scents--spiced ale, a thick stew, and a vague trace of lavender. Raising his brows in that same expression of amusement, he entered with a catlike liquidity that masked his movements from all but the quickest of eyes. His presence, however, was one of luminescent authority, incandescent certainty, if such a thing is possible.

He claimed an empty seat and shrewdly surveyed his surroundings with keen grey eyes.