Daylight shined on a house surrounded by a wall of hedges, sitting in the centre of a grassy field. The house within the hedges was made entirely of carved wood, and was surrounded by enough trees to look like a small forest segregated from the field outside. Inside of the large home, which was much larger than an average sized man would require, thirteen dwarves all sat around a large wooden table that was carved similarly as the house. The Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, laid fast asleep in a pile of hay, surrounded by the various animals belonging to the owner of the house ringed by hedges. A grand, fuzzy bumblebee buzzed near the hobbit's face, waking him from his slumber with a start. Swatting away the large fuzzy insect, Bilbo quickly got up and sorted himself out, and joined the dwarves who were being served breakfast by an extremely tall man. The man, who went by the name Beorn, was the bear skin-changer who had tried to attack them the night before. Beorn was much larger than most men, even taller than the wizard who sat in a large carved chair in the corner of the room, and had long brown hair. He also had a long beard that stuck out in odd directions and bushy eyebrows that gave him a more animalistic appearance. Beorn poured Fili, one of the dwarves that sat around the table, a cup of milk that looked like a bucket in comparison to the dwarves smaller size.
The skin-changer turned his attention to the leader of the dwarves, Thorin, and stated in a low, gravelly voice that was much suited to a bear, "So you are the one they call Oakenshield. Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"
Thorin watched Beorn with a steady gaze and asked, "You know of Azog? How?"
"My people were the first to live in the mountains, before the Orcs came down from the north," Beorn explained with the same rough, yet somber, voice, "The Defiler killed most of my family, but some he enslaved."
Bilbo, along with the large group of dwarves, easily noticed what remained of the manacles that clung to Beorn's wrist, but don't speak of it.
"Not for work, you understand, but for sport," Beorn continued his explanations, "Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him."
"There are others like you?" Bilbo asked.
Beorn replied lowly, "Once, there were many."
"And now?" Bilbo urged cautiously.
Beorn hesitated, taking a seat at the table with the dwarves, he evaluated his answer carefully before speaking, "Now . . . there is only two."
"There's another of your kind?" Gandalf asked, and leaned forward in his seat, "The last we spoke there was only you."
Beorn shook his head dejectedly, "There is another, a wolf who has taken to solitude. I never spoke of it at the time because of the wolf's wishes."
"What has changed?" Gandalf inquired.
"You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn?" Beorn questioned, ignoring the old wizard's question.
"Before Durin's Day falls, yes."
"You are running out of time," the skin-changer informed.
"Which is why we must go through Mirkwood," Gandalf clarified somewhat impatiently, "Now, what has changed with the wolf that you tell it's existence?"
"Unlike the bear; the wolf is clever, while the person is lost," Beorn said in a gruff voice, the slightest bit of humour peaking from his tone, "Like me, the wolf was driven from its home in the mountains. The wolf may be persuaded to help you through any forest for the promise of mountain land free of orcs."
"Why would we need the help of a wolf?" Thorin grumbled underneath his breath, "We are more than capable of protecting ourselves."
Something similar to a deep growl rumbled in Beorn's chest, "Don't be a fool. A darkness lies upon that forest. Foul things creep beneath those trees. There is an alliance between the Orcs of Moria and the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. I would not venture there except in great need. At least with the wolf by your side you will have a greater chance."
"We will take the Elven Road. That path is still safe." Gandalf said.
"Safe?" Beorn scoffed, "The Wood-Elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin. They're less wise and more dangerous. But it matters not."
"What do you mean?" Thorin asked.
"These lands are crawling with Orcs. Their numbers are growing and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive without the wolf's help."
Thorin looked shocked and offended by Beorn's statement, a crease forming between his furrowed brows. Beorn stood from his seat at the table so that he towered over Thorin, and growled out, "I don't like dwarves. They're greedy and blind, blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own."
Beorn carefully picked up a mouse that scampered across the table, lightly stroking its fur with his thumb. Taking the last few steps so that he and Thorin were only a few feet apart. Thoring kept his arms securely crossed over his chest, looking up at the skin-changer with unwavering eyes.
"But," Beorn continued after a moment, "Orcs I hate more. What do you need?"
While the company of dwarves, a wizard, and a hobbit saddled Beorn's ponies and prepared for their departure. Beorn stood close to Gandalf, who was already atop his horse, and explained to the old wizard, "The wolf calls the forest by Rhimdarh River home. Head North, once you find the many trails of stones stop and wait for the wolf to come to you."
"Thank you, old friend," Gandalf said, with a gracious nod of his head.
Before they could ride off, Beorn called out, "You'll want to find the wolf while you still have light, and whatever you do, don't move any of the stones."
The company was lucky to have the horses that Beorn had leant them. The ride to the river and forest that the wolf called home only took them until evening, but because they were desperately pressed for time, the ride weighed on them as if weeks had passed. The forest held ginormous, lush trees that blocked out most of the sun's light. The river could be heard close by, the splashing and gurgling of moving water being the only sound that resonated through the trees. As Beorn had said, scattered all around the forest were different trails made up of small pebbles. All of the trails went about in seemingly random directions, and even passed over top of each other in some spots, but all of the paths seemed directed in the same direction- towards the river. Flocks of birds flew and nested among the trees, but stopped at the arrival of the company before taking flight and all but disappearing from sight. Gandalf halted the group of dwarves before they could go any further and they all dismounted their horses, tying their leads to tree trunks so that they don't run off.
"Follow me," Gandalf ordered, hesitant to enter the forest, "Silently. And remember not to touch any of the stone paths."
"Why not?" asked Kili, "They're just stones."
"Those stones are mine, dwarf," a voice echoed out from between the trees, to the left of the group. The voice sounded garbled, wrong, as if they were speaking with something caught in their throat, and the pitch and tone wavered with each word.
The entire company turned and peered out into the forest, but found nothing. They all drew their weapons, preparing themselves for an attack.
"Who's there? Show yourself!" Dwalin shouted out into the forest, an axe in each hand held out and ready to be used. Darkness was slowly creeping in through the trees and bringing a cold chill with it. Whoever was speaking was not happy that they were there. A loud, barking laugh rang through the air like a knife.
"Do you really think I would take orders from the likes of you?" This time the voice was on their other side, but it quickly moved again so it was behind them, "I do not look well upon trespassers in my forest."
Gandalf snapped at the group of defensive dwarves, "Put down your weapons or we'll get nowhere!"
In a much kinder voice, Gandalf called out into the surrounding trees, "We were sent here by Beorn, he said that you could help us get through Mirkwood."
The only sound that followed was the shuffled steps of the dwarves as they stared into the darkening forest, looking for any signs of movement, and the occasional snap of branches and twigs. Finally the garbled voice spoke out once again, "I could . . . but what do any of you have to offer me?"
Thorin answered, "We are being hunted by a pale orc named-"
"Azog," the voice growled out in a way that was so animalistic the word could barely be heard, "I know of such an Orc."
"Come with us and you can help us end the Orcs who follow him and reclaim the mountains they stole," Thorin exclaimed, waiting for a response.
The next noise to fill the small space in the forest was the loud snap of a branch, and when the company all spun towards the source of the sound, a large wolf stood watching them. The wolf was easily larger than a horse, and would have to look down to look even Gandalf in the eye. Its fur was a dark brown with patches of blond on the side of its neck and its stomach. It had pale yellow eyes filled with intelligence and looked over the dwarves one by one until its gaze rested on Thorin. A long rope was tied around its neck, at the end dangled a small hide pouch, and tied on its left paw was rough, grey fabric.
With eyes that made even the proudest of men want to look away in submission, the wolf bore down on Thorin, and said in a voice that sounded like the mixture of man and animal,
"I am called Sveilrun, and I'll gladly help."
The sun was thankfully just barely above the treetops as the company followed the large dark wolf called Sveilrun towards its home, so they still had some remaining light. Sveilrun's steps were slow and carefully placed to accommodate to the dwarves shorter legs, but they still had to maintain a good pace to keep up with the wolf's longer strides. No one spoke on their trek, and they followed the wolf closely. It was Thorin and Gandalf that noticed that the wolf only walked over the paths of stones, keeping its left paws on the left side of the path and the right paws on the right so it was directly over top of the small trail without actually touching any stones. The wolf never looked down and instead kept its head held up high, but it managed to keep to the path perfectly and not touch any of the rocks even when the path would turn. Soon the two or three paths streamed around them multiplied until they were surrounded by a cobweb of winding trails. The one or two times that one of the dwarves would bump the rocks with their boots, they'd hear a silent growl of warning rumble in the wolf's chest, but it never outwardly spoke its displeasure. Still, the company was careful not to touch the odd wolf's rocks to the best of their ability. Eventually the paths that had at one point winded and crossed randomly seemed to straighten out and they were all headed in the exact same direction. Soon the trees opened up and in the centre of a small field laid a house. Surrounding the house was a ring of large rocks, and all of the strange paths connected to the large ring, making it look even more like a giant cobweb. The house, from the outside, looked small and squished down into the ground. Once the group got closer it became clear that most of the house was underground, and there was a set of giant stone steps leading down into the earth. Like Beorn's house, this one looked as if it were built to accommodate the size of the giant wolf and not a person. Large oak doors were settled into the ground at the bottom of the staircase, and were locked shut with a giant log boarding the door that was much too big for the average man to lift by himself. The wolf, however, was big enough to bite into the log's wood and lift it into the air, tossing it onto the ground and out of the way. Pushing the doors open with its head, the wolf allowed the dwarves to enter its home.
The dwarves were wary, taking in the home before fully entering and looking around. In the centre of the room was a large stone hearth with a dying fire still crackling inside and providing the only dim light in the home. There were no windows, but rafters in the roof left a crack open to the outside world. Hanging from the rafters were a series of different bird feeders made from the most peculiar objects; skulls, glass bottles, hollow wood, and what looked like animal hide. Various kinds of birds perched along the feeders and the rafters that held up the roof, staring down at the dwarves with fascination. Despite there being so many of the winged creatures, there wasn't any mess on the floor below them, giving the dwarves the impression that they may be domesticated.
The furniture set around the room was just as odd as the bird feeders. It all looked like it was barely staying together, and was made from a series of branches, bones, and animal furs. There also was various shelves that had been carved into the walls of the house, each with various objects that made as little sense as the next. There were bottles filled with small pebbles, the remains of instruments that couldn't possibly work anymore, more animal bones, children's toys, shoes of all different sizes, and an assortment of bottles filled with dried herbs, and one filled with dried juneberries. The dwarves ended up losing themselves as they wandered around the room and took in all of the random, and mostly useless, objects. When Fili finally looked towards the door for the wolf, it was gone. His head swung around a bit, looking to see if it had followed them in, but found nothing.
"Where's the wolf ?" Fili asked Kili, catching all of the other dwarves attention, "It was just at the door."
"I have a name, dwarf," a voice that sounded nothing like the one before sounded from the other side of the room, "I suggest you use it."
While the voice before was gnarled, rough, and deep, this voice was lighter, yet strong, and rung through the air with perfect clarity. Standing on the other side of the room next to a curtain that separated the main room from another, pulling grey fabric tightly around herself and down her arms, was a woman. She was taller than the dwarves and hobbit, but shorter than Gandalf, and kept her head raised proudly which only added to her height. Her hair was a dark brown, almost black, and had wisps of blond locks by her ears. It splayed about in a mess of knots and curls, and looked like it hadn't been properly kept in ages. Her eyes were a honey-brown, but seemed to shine gold in the darkened corner of the room. She shuffled further into the room, ignoring the dwarves blatant expressions of shock, and threw a log onto the hearth. The grey robes that she kept tightly wound around herself, the dwarves noticed, was the same material that had been tied around the wolf's paw. She slouched down into one of her chairs, making it creak unsteadily, and folded her arms across her chest.
"Are you the wolf?" Thorin asked the woman disbelievingly, an angry frown taking over his features as he approached the hearth she sat near, "You must be joking."
"I am Sveilrun, yes," the woman replied, looking over the dwarf before her, "I don't know why I would joke of such things."
"What kind of protection could be offered by her?" Thorin growled at Gandalf, "We've wasted enough time here, I say we be on our way."
"Now wait just a moment, Thorin," Gandalf reprimanded, "If Beorn trusts her abilities than we should give her a chance."
"If you're trying to pass through Mirkwood," Sveilrun spoke up, but kept an uncaring tone, "You'll be dead within minutes without someone who knows the forest."
The room filled with silence. All of the dwarves looked uncomfortably between each other. Sveilrun gave them a moment to stew in their doubts before asking, "So, is being a woman still an issue?"