Fair enough thought Aldwulf to himself. ‘Then I take back my harsh words, sir,’ he said. We are in need of a guide, and you will provide us with your expertise. We cannot ask for more.’
He picked up the water-skins and made his way back to the river to refill them for the night, taking the extra ones so that they might be ready to leave in the morning. The others were seated on logs about the small fire when he returned, talking among themselves. After he stowed the skins,he picked up a crisped fish leaning in on a stick near the flames, and looked about for a place to sit.
Aldwulf leaned his pack against a tree, and himself against it, stretching his long legs out before him. The fish was tasty, and felt good in a belly shrunk by rationed foods. He took a long pull on the water-skin to finish up.
Sounds of the oncoming night were all about them, soon to be fading he knew into a hush. The little fire crackled merrily, and he fished in his pack for his pipe and pouch of pipeweed.
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’
– Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age'
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