After a lengthy period of waiting, father finally came to the inn in the lower depths of Thorin's Hall. I had sat and observed the growing numbers of Dwarves coming and going, unable to keep a suspicious eye from me. The ale was good...I have to say, and it seemed some dance and revelry was in progress for the summer months.
The halls remained hot...those forges churning away, my clothing was prepared for the snowy and still frozen land outside. I have to say I could feel the sweat lingering around my hairline. After my fathers brief meeting with Lord Dwalin, we set about our business and preparations for our coming journey. Father bought some extra clothing, and I assured him no gloves for me were necessary....though it was a small lie.
We set forth from the halls, the bitter wind blowing the cobwebs away. Father, bless him, still fussed over my cold hands, to the point where I had to empty my bag to reveal a rather sorry pair of old mittens. I could see the slight anger in his eyes for my misleading him, but I know it's just his caring nature.
We walked untill night fall, my father muttered under his breath most of the way...we were told we couldn't stay in a nearby hall. My fathers pride is easily marred, though I fear it is I who makes people dis-honour him so. I am sure he knows this himself, but he would never say. Instead we spent the night at the camp of a wounded Dwarf, who we aided with food and a large supply of wood for his camp. We informed the Dwarves at Nogland the next day as to his whereabouts, and they seemed most grateful.
The next day we aided Nogland in their culling of nearby threats, though it appears my father tires quickly these days. We were given food and thick hide clothing alongside some copper coin.
