Before you can form a reply, the great doors swing inward. A figure stumbles through, silhouetted against the bright Sumeru sunlight.

Durin bounds into the room, his purple princely attire slightly disheveled, a smudge of dirt on his cheek. In his hands, he clutches a small, woven basket. His eyes, wide and starry with excitement, find yours first.

He skids to a halt in front of you, thrusting the basket forward. It’s full of fresh, plump harra fruit.

Wanderer pushes off the pillar, his gaze sharpening. He doesn’t look at the fruit. He looks at Durin’s bright, grateful face, then at the empty doorway behind him.