Coming Home

Never Underestimate Women, Ever

Okay so I apologize beforehand about the spelling, it's not one of my strong points.
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The days passed quickly as they traversed the land in between the Shire and the Misty Mountains. First they passed through country that was inhabited by decent folk, with a merry farmer or lone ranger traveling along the well worn road that cut through the landscape like an arrow from a bow. She spoke with one of the rangers, giving him a message to send to her friends in the North, letting them know that she was in good health and traveling around like she always was. She missed her friends dreadfully, the many nights they would spend singing around the warm fire, playing their flutes or fiddles if they happened to have them with them. Sitting before the fire during the evening she would drift back over the many years, images popping into her mind as she listened to the chattering of the dwarves. Here and there an inn would pop up with a few houses grouped around it, boasting of it's superb wine or fine food. The people grew rougher as they left the inhabited world behind. Sitting in the taverns, Bilbo would listen to the strange songs that the people sung, songs that were filled with the determination to survive, to prosper. He was fascinated by their stories, wishing that he could write them all down in a book to remember later.

They passed hills that seemed to be covered in darkness, warning the travelers to beware. Everything seemed gloomy, for the sun seemed to refuse shine as they came closer to the mountains. Authora could feel the darkness settle on the company as the slowly traveled further from the lands towards the West. A heaviness could be felt, the animals seemed to cease to exist, making hunting more of a challenge with each passing day. The plants were healthy enough, but they too seemed to feel the darkness creeping over the lands once filled with joy and light.

It was enough to make anyone tired and sorrowful.

One cool evening the group huddled around their roaring fire, exchanging looks of weariness amongst themselves. The brother's didn't seem to mind it though, talking non stop about where their road had taken them and what they wished for in the end. Bilbo cozied in by the fire, trying not to think of the warm little hobbit hole that was so far away. Authora merely stared into the fire, listening to the wood crack and pop in the stillness. The dwarves were sitting around, chatting by the fire, enjoying the time to rest their bodies after their long day of riding. Gandalf sat smoking his pipe, listening to the noise about him contentedly, letting smoke rings dance over the hills after every few inhales.

"Arrooooo!" A howl rang through the dell, echoing off the stones that they camped around.

Bilbo stiffened,"What was that?"

"Orcs." Fili said darkly, letting out a puff of smoke as he pulled his pipe away from his mouth eyebrows crinkled.

"Orcs?" Bilbo repeated, shivering in the night air as he crept closer to Authora.

She glanced warningly at the two young dwarves. Behind her she heard Thorin shift his position as he looked about. This was no time to start making jokes, orcs were foul creatures and you didn't want to mess with them if you had a choice.

"Throat cutters, every last one of them, there'll be dozens of them out there," Fili answered, his brows wrinkling in thought. "The lowlands are crawling with them."

She felt Bilbo shudder beside her,Were they really trying to scare the living daylights out of poor hobbit more than he already was?

Kili continued in a hushed, suspenseful voice,"They strike in the wee hours of the morning when everyone is asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood...!"