The Fellowship of the FT Forum

There wasn't even a hint of glitter in the air. I looked up to where the stars should be and saw only muddled blackness. My temples throbbed and my stomach churned. I felt horribly dizzy. There was a mass of clouds, hazy but threatening, coming ever closer, closer....

"Oooph." I tripped abruptly with a gasp. Why, what? Oh, here I am. I felt the cold clingy grass against my palms, and the scratchy warmness of a blanket. These were not clouds, but solid ground. I crawled onto the blanket and carefully lay on my back. The painful motion ceased. Slowly my head cleared. I swallowed, and saw with relief the light of the stars. They gleamed forth brilliantly in the soft air.

I was so tired; the blanket was so warm... but all of a sudden I felt really, really thirsty. Where was my pack? What was I doing over here in the first place anyway? Oh, that's right, I was looking for it. Rosriel was called away... I remember checking my things then, and it was gone. Then I went looking for it and nearly swooned. It must have fallen off during the fight... I can't lose it! It has my water-skin and flint, and everything else.

I decided to brave becoming dizzy again, and look for my pack. I got to my feet, and stood for a moment. Slowly I took a step, then hesitatingly walked towards the spur of the mountain where I had first seen the camp. Crouching in the shadows of the trees so as not to be seen and cause anyone bother, I scanned the ground for the dark lump of my pack. As I came close to the mountain, I gazed around in a wide circle. Coarse grass, pine needles, spattered blood, but no pack. I felt slightly dizzy again. I sat down carefully to rest against the roots of a tree, and breathed.

My gaze wandered again over the ground before me. Something seemed wrong. Where had the wolves gone? I knew some had been killed, there should be at least three lying there dead. I felt a shiver run through me. There to the left was the camp, yes, and there the spur of the mountain. So why? My curiosity was stronger than my nausea, and I crawled over to the spot. There was the blood and the bare places where our struggle had shoved aside the pine needles. There was the crushed grass where we had fallen. I looked again. The blood patches weren't quite right. They were smeared, as they ought to be, but they were too smeared. Hadn't the wolves died rather quickly? Or was my brain more addled than I had thought from shock and thirst?

No, the smears were at least four feet long, and they were going mostly one direction, behind me. I turned around. Now I could see the long scrapes where it looked as if something had been dragged. Of course. The people in the camp must have dragged the wolves away. I intended to go and see them, to examine them more closely, but first I must find my pack. I glanced around again. There it is, finally! I grabbed it, and, pulling out my water skin, took a drink.

When I finished, my thirst somewhat relieved, I shouldered my pack and stood up again to follow the trail. I went slowly, but soon I could see the place where the drag marks stopped. There were several pools of blood where the bodies, left piled, would have bled out. But there were no wolves. I looked around. No more marks. The ground was even all around. The blood indicated they could not have been dragged back. Where were they?

Suddenly I chilled. My hands shook. I knew now what had not felt right. These wolves, they were not ordinary wild beasts. They had disintegrated into thin air and vanished, the servants of evil that Frodo and the Fellowship had fought on the way to Moria. Wargs.

Oh, no.

I hastened back to the camp.