"Ori," a step outside the door made Ori's heart race.
Hurriedly, he shoved the yarn and needles deep under the blanket on his lap and with a shaking hand he made a grab for the pen he'd left, nearly toppling his ink and spoiling everything.
"How's the work coming?" Dori asked.
"Oh it's," Ori told him, "It's coming." Nervous, he glanced up.
Dori leaned over him, looking over the manuscript he was copying. "You haven't gotten much farther," he said.
"Been tired," Ori chirped.
Dori looked at him. He put out a hand to touch Ori's forehead. "Feeling alright?"
"Oh, yes, just tired." Ori squirmed.
Finally, Dori stepped back. "Are you sure you're warm enough in here? It's the coldest room in the house."
That was exactly why he'd picked it. Farther from the fire where everyone else liked to be. But Dori didn't need to know that. "I've got this," Ori answered, indicating the heavy blanket bunched up on his lap. "I'm plenty warm."
Dori hummed dubiously. Then he turned around. "I'll bring you some soup," he decided.
"Thank you," Ori murmured, then, louder, "Shut the door behind you!"
With a mute shake of his grey head, Dori did so, and Ori breathed a sigh of relief.
He'd bought himself a few more minutes, at least.
He brought his knitting out from under the blanket, counting along the needle to find his place. It was Dori, so he needn't have been so worried. He'd already finished Dori's. But all the same, Dori liked to talk. Best to be secret as possible.
Ori looked over what he'd done so far, and he smiled. Nori liked to travel, and these gloves would keep him so warm until the spring. Ori was sure of it.