My father used to tell me that the stones in the small circle at the edge of the farm were the tolls that Gandalf turned to stone in Bilbo’s great adventure, and that the distant peaks were really the Misty Mountains. I spent much of my youth tromping around looking for the troll’s hidden gold and running off to find Rivendell. I am sure that this is what sparked my wanderlust.
I left home as soon as I was old enough and didn’t look back. “The road goes ever on” I would say as I started each new journey. I never tired of seeing a new vista, or an old one from a new angle. The world is a magical place and I always have expected to discover a hidden valley were the elves still lived.
I once tried to settle down and I had a family, but when the road called, I was forced to leave them behind.
But my bones grew wary and I needed to stop for a rest. I pulled up to the old farm house after years of being pulled along by the Road.
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