The Shadow Walker

35. I Eat Crow, Not Crebain.

I followed the company for days. Stupid me, I hadn't bothered to grab my satchel or any provisions. So I was stuck with whatever Nature decided to provide.

This company of oddities didn't travel very quickly, so I should have been able to catch up with ease. But when it takes thirty minutes to pick a handful of berries, or dig up a few edible roots, catching up with a snail would be a chore.

Then there was the small matter of water.

The company stayed relatively close to the Bruinen for three days, then veered south while the river continued westward. And while they had canteens, I didn't. But, determined to find the cause of such a mixed company, I stubbornly followed them.

The first day without water was torture. My black outfit protected me from direct sunlight, but not the heat, and my skin released precious moisture in a failed attempt to keep me cool.

On the second day, turning back wasn't an option. The closest water source was this company.

It was almost noon when an idea struck my dehydrated brain. Reaching down as I walked, I pulled up a handful of grass and began to chew on the long stalks. Bitter fluid moistened my parched tongue, and I eagerly continued to suck the juices out. It wasn't much, but it was just enough.

A couple of hours later, the rich, warm scent of sausages sent my stomach into a frenzy. They had to be close; sausages didn't just appear on the open plain. My eyes narrowed as I scanned the horizon. There. A thin wisp of white smoke trailed into the air, barely visible, but definitely there. I trotted toward it.

As I drew closer, the soft ting of metal on metal rang out. I took cover under the thick bushes covering the ground and crawled closer to observe.

The company had made their camp in the heart of the large stone protrusions this area was famous for. In a small clearing, a Man faced two Hobbits, all holding swords. The two rascals from Bilbo's birthday party! I scowled. Who had given those little troublemakers swords?

Several observers watched quietly as the Man engaged one of the Hobbits in a light spar, moving carefully and instructing as he went. And as I looked from one member of the company to another, I realized I'd met most of them. Aragorn watched the Hobbits learn to fight, silently chewing on the end of his pipe. On the opposite side of the camp, Gandalf and Gimli were looking off in the distance, also smoking. Frodo and Samwise were watching their fellow Hobbits, and-my mouth watered-eating.

Suddenly, an Elf trotted across the camp and gracefully hopped up onto one of the boulders. His blond hair was all too familiar, as were the bow and arrows slung across his back.

Prince Legolas.

A shriek snapped my attention away from the ellon. One of the Hobbits dropped his sword and shook his hand.

"Sorry!" exclaimed the Man.

The injured Hobbit ran over to him and kicked him in the shin.

"For the Shire!" the other Hobbit bellowed, and charged in with his sword, attacking the Man's well-protected rear end.

The Man fell, laughing, and began gently tussling with the Hobbits. Aragorn also laughed, and Samwise rolled his eyes and glanced around. His blue eyes rested on a dark spot in the blue sky. "What is that?" he asked.

"Nothing, it's just a wisp of cloud," Gimli groused, apparently upset about something.

"It's moving fast," the Man said, standing. "Against the wind."

"Crebain, from Dunland," Legolas announced matter-of-factly, jumping off the boulder.

"Hide!" Aragorn bellowed. "Frodo, take cover!"