19. Cold Trails
First frost leaves the ground gleaming like crystal. Men abandon their boats to ropes and monkey-locks, leave the wharf for The Row's taverns.
Violins sing of warmth in bottled peaches. Soak cookie in it, and poorbread's fit to eat. Summer's grievance lingers, but against weather and hunger, common poverty prevails. 'Tis a new moon, unmoneyed men say.
Problematic, Balhir thinks, hunched in his chair. Pendant's swung back. His snakes turned tail down their holes, drew ice sheets overhead. Nothing happens when nothing happens.
So something must happen. Their lordships agree. To the letter, even: tough winter seeding demands a pitchfork…
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.