[piosenniel]

‘Sorry to be such a bother!’ It was not only Rôg’s arm that was stiff today, but all his joints seemed to ache from the strain of having pushed them through the crack in the rock and from the unrelenting cold. He leaned on Annû’s arm as they walked on the icy ground, his steps careful so as not to fall. The little fire they had built was from the small amount of kindling wood they’d brought from the ship and from the supply of dried reindeer droppings the Lossoth had so thoughtfully brought along.

For food, they looted through the supplies of dried strips of meat the Lossoth had provided along with a few handsful of dried grains - barley, mostly – and some dried peas that they could cook into a stew. It was plain fare, to be sure – but it would keep them warm through the frigid Bay night. Now all they had to do was find fresh water for tea and for the cooking pot.

It was Galhardir, who had come along with them, that showed them where water could be gotten. Little Rodhal had stayed behind with Carandû. He was to be the guardian of the fire, Annû had told him, laughing. ‘Guard it from the wind; keep it fed with fuel!’ the Elf had instructed him with a grin. ‘We’ll hurry back with water for hot tea and thick stew.’ As they left the camp, the boy was squatted down by the fire, a serious look on his face as he fed the little tongues of flame.

Rôg’s thought was just to scoop up a bit of fresh snow and heat it up to be their water. But Galhardir recommended they walk a little ways away, to where a great glacier edged its way to the waters of the bay. ‘We’ll chip some of the clear ice from it and bring it back for cooking. It’s pure and sweet tasting, no hint of saltiness from the bay.

Galhardir took the lead and the three headed in the direction he pointed out . . .