Bälynd ThornCreek clambered up the rough branches of a tall pine as night began to fall. He had long gotten used to climbing trees and finding shelter for the night by hiding high up in the foliage and leaning close to the trunk.
The hobbit had been traveling for a while in search of something more than the rolling emerald hills of the Shire could offer. He had yet to uncover for himself what exactly that was, but he was sure he would know it when he encountered it. While the near constant walking had toughened the soles of his feet, he still found himself sore in his legs and back.
After precariously tying a rope around his pack and securing it to one of the thick branches, he allowed himself to lean back against the trunk and closed his eyes, dozing off nearly instantly.
He awoke not to long after the moon had risen to the voices of men and the crackling of a fire. Curious, he crept quietly down out of the tree, landing without a sound onto the soft dirt of the forest floor. Silently, he moved toward the light of the camp fire.
The light sound of crunching pine needles alerted him of a purser. Bälynd spun around to face whoever or whatever was following him only to come face to face (or, more accurately, face to knee) with a truly bear of a man.
The man had in his arms a large bundle of sticks and twigs. He stared down at Bälynd quite surprised, as though he had just now noticed him. Bälynd continued to gape at the man. He had seen large men before, but none came close to the size of the one standing in front of him.
After a few moments of joined shocked silence, the bear-like man hollered something in the direction of the fire. Bälynd didn't understand the language he was speaking. It sounded a lot like thick, hot stew.
Not too far off, voices answered. The man shouted back before looking down again at Bälynd.
"Com with me, malen'kiy krolik," he said warmly, "It's not good to be without fire."