Book 1: Come Home [Thorin Oakenshield]

Chapter 7

"We're not known to fight on ponies," Balin began to explain. "We're ground fighters..."

"As did you," Gandalf continued. The Hobbit looked at him quizzically, causing the Wizard to sigh. "My dear Mr. Baggins," he spoke to the burglar, "if you did not wish for an adventure then you would not have come on this quest."

As the middle of the day approached the lingering rain clouds finally dispersed allowing sunshine to stream through the branches. Many grew excited as an open field came into view, stripping off their outer cloaks in order to dry themselves out properly in the warm rays.

"Thank goodness for that," Nori muttered. "Don't know how we'd be able to handle open terrain in that downpour."

Bilbo removed his coat, ringing it out as buckets of water hit the wet ground. He forced himself to drape it over one of the packs instead of tugging it back on, even with the chill that seemed to run through him. He didn't want to catch a cold by sitting around in damp clothing.

"Your hair's gotten bigger," Ori commented.

The Half-breed glanced over and realized the Dwarf pointed at her head, feeling the damp strands when the rain soaked through the hood. It had indeed grown bushier in its loose braid and she grinned sheepishly.

"That usually happens after a storm," she admitted.

There was no use trying to tame the wild hair until later, not wishing to fall off her pony in the process. She could just imagine what the curls looked like now. Ori reached forward, actually taking a few strands between his fingers and pulling it just far enough for the curl to stretch before releasing. It bounced back into place causing Bofur to laugh and Dori to scold the young Dwarf.

"It's quite alright, Dori," Poppy reassured with a grin. "I do it myself sometimes."

As the Dwarves broke into conversations the Half-breed glanced around at their company finding Thorin and Balin leading, the rest mulling around the center of the pack with Gandalf smoking his pipe, and Fíli and Kíli bickering over a trivial matter. Spotting Bilbo taking up the rear caught her attention as the animal under her slowed to nibble on some grass.

Pulling on the reins, the pony turned around coming up alongside Bilbo. The Hobbit looked up from the pouch he fiddled with, trying to get loose his canteen, and stared at his cousin.

"Is something wrong?" Poppy only grinned, causing Bilbo to set down the item and look at her warily. "What? You have that look on your face, Poppy, and I don't like it. You're up to something."

"Let's have a race," she offered.

"A what?"

"A race, Bilbo. What are you deaf?"

"We can't do that!"

The Half-breed cocked a brow. "Who says?"

"Well... I..." he stammered, unable to come up with an excuse.

"We've been traveling at the same pace for a while now. And look!" Her head turned, the Hobbit following her gaze. "It's so open! I've always wanted to know what it felt like to run through such a field. And what better way to do that, but with a race."

"I'm not sure..."

Steering the pony in front of his own, the cousins paused, those in the front of the company not even noticing their conversation.

"Please, Bilbo," she begged. "Please...!"

"Do we hear word of a contest of some sort?" Kíli asked.