On rare occasions, Aragorn and Gandalf consider their surroundings safe enough for a small campfire. Then, they all huddle together within the fireís feeble glow, seeking to soothe battered bodies and revive aching spirits. Murmured tales and quiet songs hold the wintry dark at bay, for a little while.
Sometimes the firelight shimmers for a moment on the ring, barely concealed at Frodoís throat. Sometimes the firelight reflects the gleam in Boromirís eye as he steals a glance, then looks guiltily away. Sometimes the firelight shoots sparks heavenward where, like mortal lives, they blaze dazzlingly for a moment, then disappear.