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“What I wouldn’t give for some spiced mead.” Bofur breathed a little warm air onto his exposed fingers. Up in the mountains, it felt more like winter than early autumn, especially with all the storms. There were few things worse than being stuck out in cold rain, in his opinion. The Company had made camp for the night, not wanting to risk rain-slicked stone in the oncoming dark. Bofur glanced over at the Hobbit. “You holdin’ up all right, Bilbo?”















