He is one of the wandering folk - Rangers we call them.
He seldom talks: not but what he can tell a rare tale when he has the mind.
He disappears for a month, or a year, and then he pops up again.
He was in and out pretty often last spring; but i haven’t seen him about lately.
What his right name is I’ve never heard: but he’s known round here as Strider.
Goes about at a great pace on his long shanks; though he don’t tell nobody what cause he has to hurry.
But there’s no accounting for East and West as we say in Bree, meaning the Rangers and the Shirefolk, begging your pardon.