"Goliath!" I yelled, beginning to get very frustrated at the wolfhound. He had run off somewhere, which wasn't very characteristic of him. I was wet, tired and hungry. The sky was getting darker and the rain was getting harder. "I am done!" I shouted angrily, turning to leave. Devil and Hugo, my other two dogs, followed me obediently when a deep, loud 'WOOF!' called my attention back to my errant wolfhound. His dark grey head appeared from the entrance of a cave. "Well, come on then." I said exasperatedly. Goliath responded by grabbing something from inside the cave and pulling it. As it emerged from the cave, my heart leapt in panic, what the bloody hell ran through my head as I pounded down the beach.
Goliath had his massive jaws clamped gently around a tiny person. The baby couldn't be more than eighteen months old. I knelt beside the fallen body, taking in the baby. There didn't seem to be any outward injuries apart from the baby's unconsciousness. Carefully picking the baby up in a princess carry, I decided to check to see if there was anyone else further in the cave.
Upon reaching the back of cave, there was a strange glow, then darkness.
A baby was crying. That was the first thing I registered. Then, the sensation of the grass beneath me tickling my skin. Wait, grass? I was on the beach. I sat up, holding my pounding head. A tiny body climbed on to my lap. "Mummy?" It said (I couldn't tell if the baby was a boy or a girl yet.) forlornly, bottom lip shaking. I just hugged it gently; I would be its mum now. Looking around me I was shocked to discover I was sat on a small hill, not a beach in sight.
Devil was curled next to me but Goliath and Hugo were sat, ears pricked, staring at something. "Are you alright, lass?" A voice asked from behind me. It was a distinctively Scottish voice that I had heard before. In The Hobbit. Fuck.
I apologise for the shortness but this is the first story I have published in a while. Please review-like? Dislike? Should I continue this?