Groaning, and twisting great creaks out of his back stiff with the morning chill, Thorin tood a cursory glance around the shop as he hung up his cloak. Nothing seemed to be unusual - wait. Thorin listened hard. Again he heard it - a rustling motion. Where - there! Behind the scrap chest. A snuffle - and a whimper.
It was the whimper that caught Thorin off guard. He rolled his eyes skyward, thinking a small animal had gotten in through some crack or other. Moving quietly, so as to not scare the creature, Thorin crept towards the chest.
Then stopped.
What he found wasn't at all what he was expecting.
A child.
A dwarf child.
Asleep in his forge.
Not only a dwarf child, but a girl dwarf child.
Which was rare enough, especially as the lass showed no signs of a beard. Given her slight figure - she could be no larger than young Kili - Thorin surmised she was not much older than his smallest sister-son.
She had clearly been traveling - with leaves caught in her ebony curls, and a well-worn satchel being used as a pillow; was she a runaway? He had heard no mention of a lost dwarfling, and her gaunt features showed some time on the road, or off it as it may have been.
All observation then begged the question: what was she doing in a forge of all places?
