Nestled by the crackling fire, Finrod reveled in the warmth that contrasted the chilly night air. The dancing flames cast flickering shadows on the log against which he leaned. He grabbed a bottle of Honningbrew Mead from his pack

Taking a thoughtful sip, Finrod couldn't help but let out an audible sigh of contentment. "There's something magical about the Honningbrew Mead." A twinkle in his eye reflecting the flickering flames.

Passing the mead bottle to Lyra, he gestured towards the expansive darkness beyond the fire's glow. "Feel that crispness in the air? It's as if the night itself is whispering secrets." There's a unique sense of safety – a haven amidst the vast wilderness in this place. 

Finrod unsure of what to talk about, but wanting to break the silence between passing of the bottle, asking awkwardly "So Lyra, What kind of Mead do you enjoy most" [i] What kind of mead do you enjoy? What kind of question was that...[/i] avoiding eye contact He takes another sip