Within moments his finger retraced a wide road and thudded, pinning the map to the table; a map he hoped he could add to on his journey. He pointed to the only place he knew he must travel, the Greatstone Pass. The pass was traveled by many merchants of the southern kingdoms. But many others came to the pass for its legend.
It was famous for its gigantic stones inlaid into the Earth. Some claimed giants laid these enormous cobble stones in ancient times. But nowadays the route was one of the busiest in the south for it led to the Great kingdom of Anstia. A good deal of valuables came through this pass, and Balamor knew anywhere coin traveled, highwaymen were one step ahead.
This of course meant trouble if he were by himself on such a road in the nighttime. He wouldn't stand a chance against more than one of them by himself, and they never traveled alone. Any chances of him finding another hobbit who would travel far beyond the Raehl were dim. The hobbits lived in solitude amongst the other races of man.
They had their own way of doing everything, especially because of their small size. But the one thing hobbits avoided the most was traveling outside their villages. He had no choice, if he wanted to complete his map, he would have to do it alone and carefully as possible. Travel at night would be avoided at all costs.
With that he shut the old leather book which now read Sacred Lands, By the Fourth Valorhorn as he stacked it beside several other books. He looked at the map once more, nodding quickly and rolling it back to its original state. Turning to fetch his bag from his back, he stuffed the scroll into a cylinder case and beside it his notebook. He tied off his pack and returned it amongst his shoulders and carried the stack of books to their places on the shelves.
As he filled the gaps in the bookcases, he came to the last book when its neighbor caught his attention. It was a thick leather bound book labeled on its spine Runes and Rune Words. Balamor flipped through its pages, when something strange caught his attention. The page had on it a familiar symbol, three dots in the shape of a triangle. Without further investigation, the book was put into his leather pack as he started for the door.
The heavy door stood ajar before crashing against the stone wall as Balamor walked into the warmth of the kitchen. His father Barris was standing at a pot belly stove cooking a meal for the two of them. His body was slightly taller and much sturdier than Balamor. He wore an apron over his red shirt rolled at the elbows, below it he had thick black pants which tapered off at his ankles. His face was hardened and strict, wrinkled with age. Beneath his thick brow were deep green eyes. Most of his face was covered by a dark red beard which hung to his collar.
Their relationship was strong even though they come from different blood. Balamor’s biological father was a fine bridge builder. However, he was unlucky one day while constructing the rope bridge which led to the Raehl. He lost his footing and fell into the waters of the Faric along with two other men.