Okay - I'm cheating.  This is actually a double-drabble but I didn't think it was strong enough to stand on its own.

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“More toast?” calls Pip from his place by the fire.

“No, Pip, I am fine,” I reply and smile as I watch him spread a thick layer of butter onto his eighth piece.

It is rare indeed that I will turn down food - but for now I am content to watch him eat.  For the first time in what seems like forever we are safe.  We have a roof of sorts over our head, a fire to keep warm by and enough food to fill our bellies.  Treebeard‘s Ents are on guard and our swords lie unneeded on the table.

Pippin comes over and flops into the chair beside me as he swallows a last doubled-over mouthful of toast.  I look at him - hair all tangled, clothes tattered and torn, black, sooty streaks across his face and hands greasy with butter and bacon fat – and blink back tears.  He is warm and fed and happy, this precious small cousin of mine, after all the nights I dreamt of losing him and all the days I watched him be brave through hunger and hurt.  I want to hug him but instead I say,

“You do look a fright, Pip.”