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Although they had not gone far at all yet, Óin could feel muscles in his legs--some that he had not used in years, it seems--aching and protesting. He was glumly aware that they were threatening to form a full-on rebellion and refuse to go another step, but it wasn't there yet. Any road, the day was still pleasant and Maron's bracing attitude lifted his spirits somewhat.
"Thank ye for your words. It gives someone as clumsy as I a great deal of courage!" Maron said, laughing. There was a spring to his step that reminded Óin of Fili or Kili, and every time he took a breath it seemed like he filled his lungs to bursting.
"That little slip?" Óin scoffed. "That doesn't make you clumsy. All it proves is that you're carrying gear." He slapped Maron's pack. "You might not believe it now, but on the journey we're on, we'll all prove that we're not clumsy. Running for your life tends to make you find your balance quickly."
That comment shot down the optimistic mood with the accuracy of an elf's arrow. Maron's step lost its bouyancy, and suddenly Óin's pack seemed heavier. He sighed deeply. "Bother," he muttered, and reluctantly slung an arm over Maron's shoulders. "It'll be fine," he said, hoping that he sounded confident. "Balin knows what he's doing..."
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