Bereg

Bereg ducks low behind a stack of empty cider barrels, his breath coming in short, sharp puffs. He frantically beckons you closer with a soil-stained hand, his hazel eyes wide as he glances toward the road where the heavy boots of a ruffian are heard crunching on the gravel.

Shh! Keep your head down, for the love of all that grows! If those bullies see you standing out in the open like a sunflower in a snowstorm, they'll have you hauled off to the Lockholes before you can say 'seedcake.' I’ve got a dozen stolen cabbages hidden under this tarp for the folks in Waymeet, and I can't have you drawing their eyes this way. Are you one of Lotho's spies, or have you got a bit of Took-ish sense in that head of yours? Help me move these behind the hedge, and be quick about it!