Pippin watched his cousin's nimble fingers shaping the dough in awe. Straining his neck, he could just see over the counter, where Frodo busily worked at an apple pie.
It didn't matter to Pippin that the crust simply would not stick to the pan, and insisted on toppling, or that the apples were just a mite over ripened, but were all that Frodo had. He didn't notice the extra spoonful of cinnamon Frodo added, while forgetting half a cup of sugar.
As Frodo carefully laid his creation in the oven, and set the wood beneath aflame, Pippin's eyes lit with the fire as he watched it crackle and warm the gooey apple filling.
Pippin didn't care that the crust was slightly blackened, left to cook for too long a time. He merely ate the apples inside as he always did, and looked up at Frodo. "Can I help next time?" He asked, licking the filling off his fingers.
"Of course you can, Pip," said Frodo, smiling as he threw away the inedible pie remains. "I need all the help I can get,"