Whether people were working, gaming, or dealing with everyday tasks, time always flew when they were fully absorbed in what they were doing.
The sun rose and set, the stars glittered beneath the cold moon, and Middle-earth entered Frostfall once more-the month of December.
The north was always cold at this time of year, but compared with last year's heavy snow, this winter was considerably warmer. The cold air had not swept south along Mirkwood, instead stopping near the Lonely Mountain.
In fact, this was what Rhovanion's climate had been like for most of its history.
Both the cloud-piercing Misty Mountains and the Grey Mountains, where Cold-drakes might lurk, blocked most of the cold air on their far side.
Cold weather like last year's truly came only once in a century or so.
Nearly a thousand kilometers long, the Running River flowed ceaselessly south into the Rhûn Inland Sea. Ships of varying sizes could occasionally be seen on its waters, laden with goods as they sailed downstream.
By this time, most merchants had sold all their goods in the nearby human settlements. Now they needed to purchase large quantities of Rhovanion's local specialties to sell in the south.
This would continue until the following summer, when some of those merchants would return with goods produced elsewhere.
Sometimes trade was like a series of endlessly repeating circles, with people forever running themselves ragged within them in pursuit of wealth.
Most of the time, this was a good thing. At certain moments, however, it was also a bad thing, because commerce knew no borders.
On an overcast morning, several sailing ships flying the King of Rhovanion's banner were traveling north along the Running River.
Although they were heading upstream, the sailors' vigorous rowing allowed them to maintain a respectable speed on the