Sam takes the bowl eagerly, his attention momentarily averted. He does take a moment to look at the stew suspiciously - there's no knowing what's really in that bowl - but hunger overcomes paranoia before long and he accepts the spoon with a grateful nod.

Thedas. Ferelden. He frowns, thinking hard and wishing he'd spent more time looking at maps in Rivendell. Neither of the names sound familiar, and he feels that same worry he'd had while wandering alone, before he'd found the camp. Well, perhaps Krem has a better grasp of just where they are. Maybe he can help? The thought is reassuring, and he relaxes a bit, dipping his spoon into the bowl.

"I'm from the Shire, but we're a long way from there by now, I reckon," he replies at last as he eats. "We've just left Lorien - the Golden Wood, if you follow me, and we were heading down the River towards Gondor and - well - Mordor."

He risks a glance at Krem at that last admission, slightly apprehensive. However the Man reacts to the name Mordor, it'll say a lot.