[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami had slipped through the backdoor of the Inn when she was sure no one else was paying attention. The common room, usually so noisey and crowded, was nearly empty and eerily silent. She suspected that most of the Inn's former guests had migrated over to the Marrish or to other places in the Shire and Rohan.

Cami felt guilty about coming to the Dragon. She was not supposed to be gallivanting about the Shire. It had ceased to be her home several years before. The Innkeeper had a long list of rules tacked up on the wall and, as a hobbit who had mysteriously disappeared from the Fourth Age, she posed too many thorny issues of canon. Still, too much of her life had been played out here. So many faces had come and gone. She had to stop and pay her respects before the Green Dragon shuttered its doors forever.

Many of the staff had already departed; others were in the process of sweeping the floors, stripping the beds, and clearing out the pantries. How strange that when people moved out of a house or a building they made sure everything was left clean, even when they had not been particularly meticulous while they had actually lived there.

Cami glanced about the large room where the guests had eaten their meals and quaffed their drinks. Packing boxes were stacked up in the middle, each filled to overflowing with a medley of personal possessions. Who did all these memories belong to? Each box was labelled with a name. Cami supposed there would be a box with her own name on it. She wondered what was inside. Letting out a soft sigh, the middle-aged hobbit vigorously shook her head. There was no use going down that road. She was no elf to live in the past. The future, however uncertain, was good enough for her.

Yet she could not leave without saying something. Her small fingers curled tightly about the back of one of the hobbit-sized chairs as she whispered her quiet goodbyes. Her mind raced back to the earlier Innkeeper who had been an Elf and her close friend. Do you remember, Piosenniel? Aman, Regin, Bird, and Mithadan--we had some good times here. This is where I married my husband and I had such troubles with my boys. Do you remember when Hawthorne burned down the Inn, and we had to rebuild? How many newcomers strolled through those doors, some for a single night and others stopping for a long visit? How many celebrations did we have, with the place decked out with flowers and tables loaded with Cook's goodies? You did a good job keeping things in order, though with help from many others, of course. All the names and images melted together as Cami walked to the door and pushed it open for one last time. She was ready to set out on the road.