Merry shivered in the weak light of morning. The Fellowship settled into camp and ate a meager meal. No campfire warmed their hands and feet, and no songs warmed their hearts. Merry’s breath blew white, and his mind turned to thoughts of home – of feasting, and family, and a bright fire on the hearth. There was nothing festive about this cold and barren place. Unless perhaps it was the star-like twinkle of Pippin’s eyes, and the glow of Pippin’s cheeks as he smiled warmly from the snug bundle of cloak and blanket wrapped about him.