1: After completing many quests in Forochel

Her task finally completed, she slumps down against the towering ivory pillar. Close enough to the fire to ward off the cold, but not so close as to burn herself, she finally relaxes for the day.
Taking a look at her mostly burnt out torch, she tosses it on the pyre in front of her. It quickly crackles and burns away with the rest of the smaller, insignificant pieces of firewood. Pulling off her scarf and cloak with a sigh of relief, she inches closer to the fire.

Removing her gloves and warming her hands by the fire, the icy chill that she hadn't even realized had penetrated down to her bones finally dissipates. Cracking her knuckles and flexing her hands with appreciative new feeling, she withdraws her worn journal from the back pocket of her robe. Writing by the firelight, she recounts her day's journey. Wandering the frozen wastes, hunting for food and cloth to provide those who couldn't provide themselves. (not without reward of course, she has to keep her own needs ahead of others'.) Hunting countless wolves, skinning them so that she could make herself some decent armor.

She admires the nearly undamaged corpse she was able to retrieve. Any taxidermist would kill for a prize like this. She already has trophies of her hunting of course, but surely there would be someone who would pay for such a thing. Someone less capable of their own hunting than her.

She decides to sketch out what it looks like. Rather what it looked like when it was alive, which she does with some accuracy. She never was the most accomplished artist, but it's at least fairly recognizable. She decides not to sketch her prey again, it's disrespectful she thinks.

Tucking her journal back away, she pulls out her pipe, which is clearly showing it's age along with most of her things. Once she finishes packing her favorite pipe-weed into it, she pours a glass of ale she'd brewed for just such an occasion. A good pipe and glass of ale, she couldn't think of a better way to celebrate a fine day's hunt if she tried. Well, maybe multiple glasses of ale, But that's for another day.

Sipping on her ale and inhaling from her pipe, she relaxes by the fire. Eventually, perhaps aided by the ale, she decides to simply rest here for the night. It's warm, it's safe from wild animals, and the people are trustworthy. Certainly it isn't the worst place she's spent a night, she won't wake up with a dragon breathing down her neck at least.

She rolls up her scarf as a makeshift pillow, resting her head facing away from the fire. Draping her cloak over her as if it were a blanket, she drifts off to sleep on the fire-warmed ground.


2: After exploring islands of turtles with a kin-mate.

she gathers a smallish bundle of sticks from the nearby trees, piling them up to make a campfire before tossing her torch onto it, watching as the flame crackles to life.

she lies down in the orange warming glow of the fire, relaxing as she looks into the sky. The stars always seem so beautiful, she wishes it were possible for her to research them as well. She was somewhat saddened by the departure of her friend, but it was unavoidable. He had at least shown her some interesting sights before he left. Though she was still upset that the turtles hadn't been friendlier. She wonders why, but can't think of any reason that isn't rather depressing.

She rolls around restlessly, worrying that he might be getting the wrong idea from her joking and travelling with him. Much less giving him ales, what was she thinking!? She doesn't have any romantic interest in him, or any of his kind for that matter. Her interests lie elsewhere, but she has given even that barely any thought lately.
She sighs, thinking of how much time she's had to spend on researching, adventuring, anything else but actually living her life, enjoying herself, anything.
She realizes that she very well might be using those as excuses, to keep from having to face her more complicated problems. Though she supposes, the fate of the world is a fairly good excuse. She isn't sure if she would even have enough time for her own life even if she wasn't trying desperately to avoid it.
She stirs and sits up, relaxing can't last forever after all. Her fire was dying out any way. She sits closet to the fire and, with the last dim light of it's burning logs, writes out her memories of the day's adventures. Her near perfect recollection the islands of turtles, her thoughts as she was laying here, her earlier exploration in moria, in her research journal.

She has a different section for research on the people of the world, and the section on the world around her of course. And an entirely different, rarely looked at, section on herself. She finishes writing her notes quickly as the fire dies out, and gets up. After gathering a larger pile of larger logs, she piles them into a much longer lasting campfire, lighting it with her flint and steel this time, her torch having burnt out with the previous fire. This one should last all night, at least she hopes as much. After unrolling her sleeping bag from her backpack and laying it next to the fire, she climbs into it. Even warmed by the fire and exhausted from her day's travel as always, she has trouble escaping her thoughts long enough to fall into a restless sleep.