I need a dollar, dollar, dollar that’s what I need.
It’d been bad, the injury. It left his dear cousin jumbled and different and though Bofur had diligently stayed by Bifur’s side through his recovery– the frantic outbursts, the sudden wailings and harsh fists, had become too much to bear.
He didn’t hate his cousin for his actions, Oín had told them both that it would take a while for Bifur to re-learn how to communicate. In the meantime, it was simply frustrating.
And that frustration turned to anger very quickly.
The tipping point came in the form of broken furniture, dishes scattered about, and stew thrown in his face. His cousin shouted angry nonsensical words and Bombur had stepped in before it could become any worse.
Bofur left that night. He’d wandered out of Ered Luin, not but his Mattock and the clothes on his back. He wandered far and wide, never staying in any place for very long. Home wasn’t home to him anymore, not with his cousin someone else entirely.
Eventually he’d wandered to reaches unknown to him– a quiet meadow banked by a forest and small rounded hills. It was quaint, and quiet, and he’d found a dry patch of grass to rest upon.
His heart felt heavy wondering if Bombur was alright keeping Bifur calm, but those thoughts were quickly pushed aside when he felt the first drops of rainfall.
The rain came down like a deluge and Bofur had scrambled to find some cover, but the ground he’d chosen to spend the night became muddied and slick. No place for anyone to lay their head.
Soon enough, he was soaked through, leaning against a thick tree in every vain attempt at staying dry when someone had called out to him from the road. The man was smaller than average, with no hair on his face or shoes on his mud-caked feet. He carried an umbrella, keeping flaxen curls dry from the rain.
Bofur greeted the small man, pointing upward at the storm above. “Nice day for a walk.”