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So absorbed was Náin in his own thoughts that he completely failed to notice that Degas had left the courtyard by a route that didn't take him past the Dwarf (though Degas was unaware that Náin was seeking him at all, at that time) until Degas was gone.
How long he had been muttering to himself in the stables, Náin wasn't quite sure. It could have been five minutes, or it could have been half an hour. Time is difficult to keep track of when your mind is endlessly revisiting the same themes over and over and over...
Cursing himself for his inattention, Náin set off back into the Mead Hall, determined to find Degas and apologize- whether the boy liked it or not.
He found him on his way out of the kitchen, eating. Whether it was second breakfast, or a first, or if he was just eating (Men in their teens, Náin reflected, had appetites to rival Hobbits) for the sake of it, Náin did not know.
"Degas!" he called the young man's name, catching his attention. Mouth still full, Degas half-turned to face the Dwarf, his face full of suspicion and altogether unfriendly.
"I would speak with you, if you would," said Náin, bracing himself. Remember, he thought: you deserve this.
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