The cloak did a good job of keeping the elements off of Eodras. All he needed now was a fire set up, which would prove slightly difficult with all this rain. He went about the forest not going too far away from the camp snapping branches off of the lower parts of the trees. Any bits of wood that was on the floor would be too wet and would only cause smoke, so he had to settle for the branches. 

It took a little while longer to get the fire going, which he made around a foot away from his tent so he didn't start to inhale all of the smoke. A few minutes later, he'd set up a make shift grill. There was two sticks either side of the fire with a branch hooking on to them with a skinned and gutted squirrel impaled on it. Not really a meal for kings but Eodras was content. A fire and the smell of meat cooking always warmed the soul.

As Eodras sat flipping over the meat, he noticed the Haradrim again. He spat on the floor as she walked past. Eodras had no idea what she was like, but he despised her. Everyone in Gondor hated the Haradrim, even though most of them had never met one before. His Father used to tell him stories about ambushing Haradrim armies, who tired to invade their lands. After a while, he stopped thinking of her and went back to his food holding on to either side of the sticks and taking a bite out of the squirrel. When he was eating the meat, the dwarfs started to sing, Eodras started tapping his foot on the floor going with the beat with a smile on his face.