The Wind Fell Silent

9. and Into the Fire

Kili's Point of View

We ran as fast as possible through the sparse pines that inhabited the mountainside, crazed warg scouts hot on our tail. They were gaining on us quickly. The terrain was steep and I lost my footing more than once. Our encounter with the goblins had left us exhausted, and in need of rest, but luck was against us. We ran for what seemed like forever, until the sun had vanished, and the moon hung ominously in the sky... there were no stars that cloudy night.

When it seemed that my lungs could take no more, we reached a precipice... a cliff. I cursed, for we were trapped, and doomed seemed our fate. Some of the faster wargs had reached us, and we made short work of them, I even saw little Bilbo fell one; but it mattered not, for many more were coming.

"Up into the trees!" Gandalf ordered, "Quick!"

We frantically attempted to scale the trees, and for the younger members of the company (myself included) it was not terribly difficult (as I'm sure you can imagine, the sprite was already on the utmost branch of the tallest tree when I had merely approached a pine), but for others it was not so easy. Bilbo, for example, was just standing wide eyed as the wargs, and their orcish riders, raced towards us. I thought that he would surely perish, but Arenna came to his rescue. In the final moments before the wargs were upon him, Renn grabbed him and pulled him up into the pine, a warg narrowly missing her long hair.

We watched in horror from our treetop perches as a multitude of wargs swarmed under us, jumping up and snapping at lower hanging dwarves. But at the approach of one pale orc, astride a white warg, the rest fell silent, and watched for command. I knew who the orc was, though we had never met, I had heard many tales of his wickedness as a dwarfling, I had heard his name cursed by both my mother and my uncle alike many times before.

"Azog." I heard my uncle whisper in disbelief.

Third Person

The giant orc, sniffed the air as he stroked his growling warg. The host of dwarves that hung in the trees watched in shock and disdain.

"Nuzdigid? Nuzdi gast? (Do you smell it? The scent of fear?)" Azog spoke in black speech to his companions. Only a few of the company could understand, Thorin being among them.

"Ganzilig-I unarug obod nauzdanish, Thorin undag Thrain. (I remember your father reeked of it, Thorin son of Thrain.)" Azog continued, watching, satisfied with the stricken look on Thorin's face that was now mingled with grief.

"It cannot be." Thorin whispered to himself, realizing that his father had indeed been captured, and most-likely killed.

Azog again addressed his riders and their wargs "Kod, toragid biriz. (That one is mine.)" he said, pointing to Thorin. "Worori-da! (Kill the others!)", he ordered.

At his command, the rider less wargs leapt forth and started to jump at the trees with renewed vigor, nearly snatching some of the dwarves.

"Sho gad ado! (Drink their blood!)" Azog cried, bolstering the wargs' bloodlust.

The trees started to sway under the warg's attack, and the dwarves had to grip tightly, for fear of being dislodged. Eventually, the trees gave, and started to be uprooted by the constant blows of the enemy. The company found themselves jumping from one fallen tree to the next, as if they were in a twisted game of dominos. For many of the dwarves (and Bilbo) this was exceedingly difficult, and they nearly fell many times, but for Arenna, it was not so. She glided easily from tree to tree, with agility that would impress even an elf; she was extremely comfortable in trees, as any sprite is, and spent most of her childhood in the treetops practicing such calisthenics, as any young sprite does.