[Thorongil had had a similar idea: with the weather getting colder, more permanent shelter would need to be found. He's managed to find a cave of his own, but when he lies down to sleep, he is troubled by the sound of footsteps, because he's a motherfucking Northern Ranger and he can get the lay of the land by listening to the ground, okay, don't ask how the science works.
He gathers himself up, stows his supplies, and cautiously makes his way downriver in the direction of the disturbance. If there are other Tributes this close to where he's made camp, he needs to know whether they are unfriendly or not. He stoops down a good distance away from the cave entrance to see what can be made of the tracks; it's enough to give him a good guess at the number of people coming and going, and that they are neither hobbits nor Elves, but everyone is wearing the same goddamn shoes and there's only so much he can Sherlock Holmes out of this.
If he sneaks up, he reasons, he might be considered an enemy and attacked on sight. If he approaches boldly, clearly alone, they might think he is one of their number long enough for him to negotiate.
That is how Thorongil comes to be striding up to the cave entrance, bold as brass, a handmade bow slung over his shoulder. He has no weapon in his hands, but he does have a square of mammoth skin. He stops at the threshhold and throws the skin into the cave. It looks like there's something wrapped in it.]
Hello!
[His hands are open at his sides, clearly empty.]
This is how one greets one's neighbors, is it not?
[It's not exactly a casserole -- it's raw meat -- but it will do.]
open, but I'd prefer to keep this to one thread -- anyone can reply though and posting order is up2u
He gathers himself up, stows his supplies, and cautiously makes his way downriver in the direction of the disturbance. If there are other Tributes this close to where he's made camp, he needs to know whether they are unfriendly or not. He stoops down a good distance away from the cave entrance to see what can be made of the tracks; it's enough to give him a good guess at the number of people coming and going, and that they are neither hobbits nor Elves, but everyone is wearing the same goddamn shoes and there's only so much he can Sherlock Holmes out of this.
If he sneaks up, he reasons, he might be considered an enemy and attacked on sight. If he approaches boldly, clearly alone, they might think he is one of their number long enough for him to negotiate.
That is how Thorongil comes to be striding up to the cave entrance, bold as brass, a handmade bow slung over his shoulder. He has no weapon in his hands, but he does have a square of mammoth skin. He stops at the threshhold and throws the skin into the cave. It looks like there's something wrapped in it.]
Hello!
[His hands are open at his sides, clearly empty.]
This is how one greets one's neighbors, is it not?
[It's not exactly a casserole -- it's raw meat -- but it will do.]