Thorongil is amused, more than anything else. He puts the spear back down, next to the rock he's sitting on, and stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing them.

"Is that all you have to offer?" he says, and it's only the light of humor in his eyes that gives it away as teasing. "You come to my camp the night before a storm, and have nothing to trade for food and shelter but a saltine?"