It was a rainy day in
March when Aragorn met with his brothers at the Pony. He shook himself
in a shower of raindrops, hanging his cloak over a chair to dry. “Well,
Elladan sniffed and grimaced. “So I see. What is that foul smell, littlest brother? It is like …” he sniffed again. “Damp dog.”
“A wet warg,” Elrohir added distastefully.
“It is my wolfskin cloak!” Aragorn protested. “I know it smells a
little in damp weather, but it is warm, and keeps the rain out!”
He sighed. His brothers could be so very Elven at times.