Aragorn stared off into the middle distance, thinking of Arwen.

Boromir strode up.

"Aragorn, we should get moving again."

Aragorn merely continued staring, lost in thought.

"Aragorn? Aragorn?"

Still no response. Boromir decided to try something a little, unconventional.

"Aragorn, you're standing in a puddle."

Nothing.

"Your head is on fire!"

Did Aragorn have wooden ears?

"Your sword is made of cheese!"

Still Aragorn remained unmoving.

"The Ringwraiths rode up and settled down to eat pies with us,"

Aragorn said nothing; Boromir guffawed and continued his tale.

"Then they started doing pantomime, so we chased them off with pointed sticks."

Boromir burst out laughing, even as Aragorn stared obliviously into the forest.

"Your hair has turned blue and is standing on end."

Exasperated with the other's lack of response, Boromir grabbed Aragorn and shook him.

"Were you saying something, Boromir?"

"No," Boromir sighed. "Nothing at all. Who were you thinking of?"

Aragorn smiled dreamily.

"Arwen," he murmured.

"Ahh," Boromir mused. "That explains it."