2. Fiend Paws

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Sorry for the long wait. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter because I won't be publishing again for a while xx.

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12 months later (present day)

The blazing sun, bringing happiness as well as pleasant heat to the world was starting to peak over the horizon, getting a careful glimpse of the present day, painting the blue sky with red and pink colors. The burning globe illuminated the leafs and bark of the trees, the surface of stones and mountains, the fresh grass covering the ground and a Hobbit’s soft skin and curly locks peeking out from behind an uneven cliff. His body was remarkably graceful, keeping close to the cold, rough stone, making him less identifiable. The refreshing morning breeze was vague, barely there, however stroking the Hobbit’s soft, chocolate colored curls with a light touch.

Despite the grace of his body, his soundless physical moves, his filthy appearance helping him to blend in, the small creature looked rather frightened and uneasy, appalled by the possibility of being found by the deadly, loathing, blood-thirsty creatures on the opposite cliff.

Riding in the morning light were orcs, striding great, brown Wargs with fangs as sharp as blades. Above them, the sky was not in their favour – cold and dark, deceptive and depressing, threatening to drench them in a downpour of cold droplets. Their galloping fiend paws over the hard rock echoed such as thunder and whispers throughout a hollow cave. The Warg howls just as fearsome and horrid as sheer death, burning in their throats like acid. The little Hobbit’s nose twitched in concern and anxiety, as in a fairly investigating manner whilst he kept crooking his neck towards the individual beasts running across the hard rock, to suddenly cease their pace and stop in a single instant move of their fingers in the Warg’s rough fur.

The Orc amongst them, with an appearance differing from all the rest stopped to look over the vast lands and overlooks of the mountains, his ice cold, blue eyes pierced in the direction of the young Hobbit who ducked to shield himself from the fiend’s deadly gaze. The Orc was huge and muscular, covered in deep, red scars such as furrows and unpleasant battle wounds. They were uneven, covering his entire body like purposive writings, certainly empowering his appearance as well as his strength. His skin was snow shite – pale more like it, his ears sharp and pointy in the resemblance of his teeth, and as a replacement for his left arm was an iron shaft in the shape of a hand, his flesh having been cut off by a silhouette with sapphire eyes. He sniffed violently and beast-like towards the direction of the Hobbit’s cliff, before he growled in great dissatisfaction and took off with a single move of his heels against the Warg’s flank.

As the earlier fierce and gruesome howls and growls by the Wargs were starting to get fainter and softer, disappearing into the vast wilderness of the deceptive lands, the Hobbit could finally relax. His muscles that were clenched and tense laid to rest underneath his clothing as he had passed unnoticed. However, as the mute growling disappeared completely, a new growl was replaced. One that was strong and present; appeared to be right by the Hobbit’s side and he flinched with his heart clapping like a drum in his chest. The growl was angry and lurid, cadaverous and ghoulish, and with the Hobbit’s back tightly pressed against the rough cliff wall, he dared to look up across his shoulder to be faced by a gigantic beast precisely a few feet to his right, hiding behind one of the great cliff walls. The Hobbit frowned in confusion and terror to the fiend beast’s perplexed appearance. A bear? No, hardly. This monster was way too great and demonic. It was three times the size of a grown bear; its remarkable frame was painted as a silhouette by the rising sun. Its giant front paws were steadily placed on a rock, supporting its weight, carrying it up in the air for improved sight and hearing. Its nostrils  flared, its fangs revealed themselves behind thick flesh, and it growled in deterrent loathsome noises, the repulsive, yet remarkable sound rolling in its throat.

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