Durin smiled as he accepted the caress from the elderly relative.
"Seeing that you are well puts my heart at ease."
He smiled and took out a box, which contained pastries made from World Tree Fruit ground into powder: "This is my little token of appreciation."
"You are such a good child." She smiled, sitting on the oak chair, her hunched, decrepit flesh wrapped in a lead-grey woolen gown.
The skirt fell to her ankles, fringes hanging between the folds, the neckline adorned with a floral fabric neck guard. The clothes were old, but the intricate patterns still hinted at the Northern Kingdom's artistry.
The old lady's face was like a piece of crumpled parchment, with wrinkles spreading from the corners of her eyes to her temples. Silver hair was coiled into a bun atop her head. Her eyes, though cloudy, still retained a touch of liveliness.
A brooch was pinned to her collar.
