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- Wand
- It's made of wood, I suppose
Ford lazily walked down to his rock on the lakefront. He hadn't been here with any regularity in a while, which greatly saddened him, because it was a very relaxing corner of earth. His pack was slung over his shoulder and Ford quietly sang a song that he had learned as a child, "The Steward of Gondor," from Tolkien. He swung himself up onto his rock, which was located on the lake, with the castle ways off to his left. To his center-right, the sun was beginning it's quiet descent into the underworld, and the only sound around was Ford's boots crunching on the snow. He was wearing a few layers in order to keep warm. His pack was clanking loudly, as if filled with glass. He sat on the rock and unslung his pack, setting it beside him. He opened it up and pulled out a bottle of butterbeer. The past few weeks had been getting rediculously busy, and Ford needed some time to unwind, as his mother used to say.