Thorin tried not to think about it as he searched through the brush for a suitable place to set camp.
He had been searching a while, fighting with the urge to keep going, and finally made headway toward a place for the night by telling himself that, being lost as he was,
he would have no better luck finding his way in the dark.
His attempt to evade thoughts most pressing was not working, evidently. He did not feel particularly upset about it. Just, numb.
And who would have expected a different result?
He found an elevated spot with a log near a burned out pit where previous travelers had set camp before, threw his pack on the log and dragged out his bedroll,
rather too ornate for this homeless life, but Dís insisted. Speaking of, her package: he reached into his sack and withdrew the bundle wrapped in one of his favorite handkerchiefs.
One she had gifted him years ago, on Durin's Day, just before they set out to reclaim Khazâd-dum from the Orcs of Moria.
Thorin's fingers traced their family name she'd embroidered in silver, remembering. Frerin had gotten its match, the gem-like velvet only lighter in blue.
She always found such practical ways to gift them things. He almost smiled as he unpacked the parcel of food assortments, biscuits and dried meat.
There had been cheese and nuts, but these he had finished three days ago. But no less, this would do. He took a bite of meat and wondered what the others would think once he found them.
Surely they would be disappointed. He followed the meat with some biscuit.
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