Fili Durin sat alone by the flickering campfire, the shadows dancing across his face. The night was still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. His thoughts wandered to his brother, Kili, and the rest of their company, now scattered across Middle-earth. The weight of their quest pressed heavily on his shoulders, but he knew he had to stay strong.

He absentmindedly ran his fingers over the intricate patterns on his sword, a gift from his uncle Thorin. The firelight glinted off the blade, casting a warm glow. Fili sighed, his blue eyes reflecting the flames. He felt a pang of loneliness, a rare feeling for the usually cheerful dwarf.

Suddenly, a twig snapped in the darkness beyond the firelight. Fili’s hand instinctively went to his sword, his senses alert. “Who’s there?” he called out, his voice steady but curious. He hoped it was a friend, someone who could share the warmth of the fire and perhaps lighten the burden of his thoughts.