The sweltering summer sun fires down upon the village of Bree. The townsfolk descend like a birds on prey around the well in the center of the village. The dirt floor of Bree is dusty, hard and getting harder. Horse carts and cattle trod the earth and send reluctant brown clouds of dust into the hot afternoon sun. Everything is tired and hot. The ground cries for rain. Far in the distance, past the Tudor buildings, over the gentle hills, just beyond the brown trees of summer, there rises a dark cloud. It is full of rain and promise. The well is thirsty and will be satisfied this evening.