Behind me Pip is standing quietly. I walk forwards alone, bent on my stick, book held close against my chest. The soil is soft and dewy beneath my feet, and simbelmynë kiss my ankles. I, too, remember you, who now lie there.
Arrived at the highest point of the mound, I kneel. Carefully, I lay my book down upon the earth. The Herblore of the Shire. I wrote it for you, in memory of the chat you once said we would have. We never did.
Still, you were a father to me, and this is my parting gift to you.