There were few people that Thorin Oakenshield trusted. He trusted his kin, but that was it. After losing the Lonely Mountain, the dwarves of Erebor were looked down upon by many races of Middle Earth and elves had a special place of distrust in Thor...
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"Vedis is scouting to see how far the pack is," Oreliell said. "The eagles have bought us time, but there is no telling how much. We'll need to get moving soon. Depending on Vedis' report, we might be able to rest for the night, but it might be wiser to keep moving."
Thorin nodded.
"We'll leave when she returns. Let the others rest for now."
Oreliell nodded and sat down on a nearby log. Together, they watched the company. Most had rid themselves of their outer clothes and were bathing in the water. Some of them were throwing water at one another. Bilbo still looked uncomfortable with the dwarves' rowdy behavior, but he was smiling more. Gandalf was smoking his pipe by a tree, simply observing it all.
Thorin glanced again at Oreliell, noticing her shifting. His eyes fell to her hand, which was running up and down her opposite forearm.
"Oreliell." She hummed, obviously distracted. He lowered his voice a little. "Gimlelul." Her eyes darted to him and her body relaxed a little. "Are you sure you're all right?" He motioned to where she was messing with her arm.
Oreliell sighed and clasped her hands together.
"I will be," she said. "Old memories that I'd rather forget."
