The Shadow Walker

5. Wishing for a Boat.

I watched helplessly as Bilbo paddled away. I couldn't ask his accomplice for a boat of my own; he would definitely suspect me and probably warn Gandalf's pet. That left me only one option.

I went down to the river, hiding behind the dock where the ground sloped to meet the water. Then I sat down and unlatched my shoes. After stuffing them into my satchel, I pulled off my socks and put those in, too. Finally, I stood and slowly waded into the water.

Cold!

I suppressed a shiver and waded deeper. Holding my pack up out of the water, I began dogpaddling, trying not to let my teeth chatter. Bilbo wasn't that far ahead, and for a Hobbit, he was remarkably alert. It was unfortunate, really, that he was facing me to row to the opposite shore. The night was dark, but I had to keep a distance away.

Oh Mordor. A powerful tickle filled the back of my nose. Still kicking with my feet, I clapped my free hand over my nose and mouth just in time. I sneezed. Quietly, but in the midnight silence, I might as well have screamed, "Hey! Over here! Look at me!"

Bilbo frowned, and he began scanning the water. Mordor, oh Mordor, he was going to see me. I exhaled and slipped beneath the surface, trembling. Then, reluctantly, I pulled my satchel underwater, as well.

I was going to get so sick.

Long seconds passed, and my lungs burned for air. I went up, just letting my nose break the surface so I could take a breath. Then I rose a bit more and checked on the Hobbit. Bilbo was paddling away, humming to himself once more. I quietly dogpaddled after him.

When at last Bilbo reached the opposite shore's dock and tied his boat, I couldn't feel my feet at all. I waited until Bilbo was happily waddling down the road before I dated come out of the water. Cringing, I opened my waterlogged satchel and pulled out my waterlogged boots and equally waterlogged socks.

"Eru dammit," I whined under my breath, pulling my wet socks on. At least I couldn't feel them. "I hate Hobbits!" I muttered.

"If she hates Hobbitses," cane a new, raspy voice, "why does she follow Baggins, Precious?"

I froze.

"Shut up, shut up!" came the same voice. "Wouldn't want her to hear us. Gollum! Gollum!"

I shuddered and yanked my boots on. I wasn't the only person trailing Bilbo. And whoever this disgusting character was, he wasn't someone I wanted to deal with. Not tonight, at least. After hastily lacing up my boots, I stood, grabbed my satchel, and tried after Bilbo.

Now, he wasn't the only one glancing over his shoulder.

The Old Forest freaked me out. The trees were so old, so bitter. Most of them hissed at Bilbo and me as we passed, and some whispered. Others reached their roots and branches toward us, trying to snag us for easy prey. Bilbo easily dodged their approaches, but I very nearly wasn't so lucky. While I dodged one branch swinging at my head, a small root wrapped around my ankle and almost tripped me.

After a couple of hours, we reached a clearing, the center well out of the trees' reach. Bilbo set his things down and walked around, gathering small sticks and dry leaves. Meanwhile, keeping an eye on him, I walked around the parameter, just out of sight, listening for a tree in a non-murderous mood, that I could climb and sleep in.

"Come ye closer, child of shadow. Thy bones beneath my roots will I crush."

Nope, not that one. I shuddered and hurried to the next tree.

"Alas, the Olde Forest diminishes. ...Thy fires consume my children; thy tools carve my lovers. Harm our people no more. ..."

Probably as good as I was going to get. I went to the lamenting tree and mounted it's roots, then rested a hand on its bark.

"My people use only the sleeping trees for fuel and crafting, as do I. May I find safety in your branches tonight?"

A long pause. Then: "Ye are surely a child of the Earth, and pure of heart. Climb, Earthling, and be at peace."

I patted the tree. "Many thanks." I looked up, and frowned. The first branch was a long way away. Maybe I should've checked that before risking conversation with a potentially-dangerous, centuries-old tree.

"Millennia," the tree corrected me. "And fear ye not. I will carry thee." A branch swung down and stopped beside me, and I gingerly stepped onto it, then sat down. The branch returned to its natural position, and the tree added, "Rest, child. I shall sing ye to sleep."

I listened quietly as the tree began a hauntingly-beautiful tune of the first elves' arrival, and how they'd woken the trees, and taught them to speak. But the lullaby turned chilling as the tree sang of darkness falling over the lands, of the mortals' arrival and corruption, and the Elves taking on a cruel attitude.

I rested as best I could, but I could not sleep. My feet were freezing cold, and my wet hair clung to my neck. I shivered violently, glaring at Bilbo who had built a tidy little fire and was contentedly smoking smoking his pipe.

I hate Hobbits right now.