The nights were long. The air bit. The dark was as deep as it was cold.
It belonged to the head of each house to do this in the darkest part of the year. He was the eldest of his brothers. It was his to do. And he was proud to do it.
That said, he was cold.
Dori went about their home, speaking to himself the old words, words of power to keep dark things at bay. To shut doors against foes and keep safe those who lay within. With a white stone in his hands, he traced letters on their home.
He marked the outline of the doors. The window in the wall. The doorstep. The path. The gate. He would protect his brothers. The duty was his.
Finally, it was done. And with a glance back through the dark, his breath a grey cloud in front of him, he went to let himself back in.
Inside, there was warmth and the golden glow of candlelight.
Ori jumped up from his place at the table with a shy smile and a clatter of pens and he stumbled over himself, fetching a steaming cup from the side table. Ori offered it to him.
Gratefully, Dori took it, cherishing its warmth in his hands.
"Thank you, nadad," Ori told him.
Dori sipped, feeling the warmth of the drink all the way to his middle. He smiled at his brother. "And you, nadadith."