Mortimer trudges onwards through the snow. He notices the waver in Lyrique's voice and catches up with the elven bard, his own voice joining in the song. To be honest, Mortimer's tunelessness is better suited to drinking songs where no-one is sober enough to critique, but he hopes to buoy his friend's spirits by showing willing.
"Not to worry, we're making good time. Won't be long now before we're back on Drell with a nice cool drink for you. First round's on me, if the orcs left us any ale." He pats Lyrique on the shoulder, keeping pace with the elf and his parents.