Even the musty home-smell seemed strange in his nostrils as he lay in bed staring at Bag End's low ceiling. The once-comfortable sheets felt unnatural on his skin; he tossed over yet again in hopes to situate himself beneath them.
He was back. It was odd, to say the least, but not all in a bad way. If he had learned one thing on his travels, it was just that: different is far from a negative term. Now it was a lesson the Baggins in him was delighted to apply to home. Returning is bittersweet, he tried to tell himself, but as he found his place beneath the covers, sleep had other ideas.