"Did you notice, Master Baggins, that you walk rather oddly?"

"I beg your pardon?" Bilbo looked up in confusion from his pack. When the ponies had bolted, they had been forced to continue on foot. He rather suspected that the Company had expected him to kick up a fuss, or slow them down.

"Your foot prints, look here. You only seem to walk on the balls of your feet. I cannot find a heel mark at all." Balin looked puzzled by it, and indeed, as he spoke, Dwalin came to peer at the prints in the road dust. He frowned, but did not speak. Bilbo tilted his head to the side, glancing down at the ground as well.

"No, I suppose not. We are trying to be quiet, are we not?" He rather doubted it, considering the Company. None of them, save Nori, seemed to know what quiet meant. Even Dwalin was loud, when he was walking, and the few times he bothered to speak.

"Of course. Is this how Hobbits sneak about? Gandalf mentioned that Hobbits were particularly sneaky when they wished to." Balin looked, as he often did, as though he was filing away whatever Bilbo was going to say into some internal appendix.

"Part of it. Our feet are rather different, which is helpful. Hobbits are not fighters, typically." He heard someone behind him snort in laughter, and another voice mutter "Obviously," under its breath. He ignored it, though he noted that is sounded suspiciously like Thorin.

"So we need to be able to move without detection, in multiple areas. Forest, fields, anywhere that we need to hide. I expect that it the reason Gandalf chose a Hobbit, instead of someone more used to travel." Another bit of laughter, louder than the last. Despite everything, especially the trolls of only a few nights ago, the Company regarded him rather useless.

"Would you like to prove that?" Dwalin looked up, an interested look on his face. He likely was some kind of tracker, if what he had heard correctly from fireside a few weeks ago was correct. If so, Bilbo supposed he would love a tracking game.

"Of course. How would you like me to 'prove it'?" Dwalin smiled, just a bit, while the others began to watch in interest.

"A game? You hide, and I'll try and find you. If you can get back to camp without being found, you win. I find you, I win. Sound fair?" Bilbo could see that no-one thought he could win this game, as he looked around camp. Excluding Gandalf, who smiled softly. Nori, surprisingly, was speaking quietly to Oin, and coins were exchanging hands. He wondered what the bet was.

"Deal." He didn't bother waiting for a signal or some kind of time count. He simply stripped out of his cloak, borrowed from Bofur. Once it was set it aside, he walked backwards into the woods, slipping into the shadows. Once the light of the fire faded from sight, he turned, surveying the area.

The soil was soft, from recent rain. It would hold foot prints easily, so he hopped from root to root instead, leaping lightly around the large trunks. He could hear foot steps behind him, tromping boots surprisingly quiet despite the dwarf that wore them. Dwalin was good, it seemed.

Bilbo was better.

Quickly, he began twisting to the side, under low reaching branches that the taller dwarf would struggle to get through without making a lot of noise. Once through, he doubled back around, looping past where Dwalin was walking, head bent low to listen, or perhaps smell. Regardless, he made it past him, and was near camp when he paused, balancing near an elm.

If he got back so soon, he would win, easily. But that was no fun. He wanted to prove he could sneak, as well as any Hobbit. He wanted proof that he could do this, without detection. He would need something, some kind of proof.

The last time he had tried to steal from anyone, he'd been used as a tissue. He'd prefer for that not to happen. And it was entirely likely that Dwalin would swing first, if he was startled.

With his axe.

Instead, Bilbo turned to the elm, and gripped a low branch, swinging up easily into the foliage. He pulled himself higher, and walked along the branch towards where it met with another. Continuing this way, he reached camp, standing almost directly over the camp, looking down at the sparking fire and smoke.

Carefully, he cut off one of the buttons of his coat, and dropped it at the same time as a log resettled, covering the soft plink the button made as it landed on his own pack. Smiling, he backed away, moving towards the other side of the camp, and away, towards the rocky outcropping that marked their passage towards the mountains. The trees gave him easy access to the tops of the tall rocks, and he stepped lightly onto the rough rock.

From here, the sun was still visible, sinking below the tree line behind them. The Shire lay that way, as did the Old Forest and beyond, the Blue Mountains. He picked up a loose piece from the top, tucking it in his pocket and continuing away from camp, along the rocks now. The rocks melded into the hillside after a few hundred feet. It looked like they had fallen from higher up at some point, tumbled down the hill and landed here.

He was too far away to hear Dwalin at this point, and doubled back again, staying in the trees. He found him near where he'd turned the first time, the underbrush obviously pulled apart in a search. Dwalin clearly thought he was going to hide for a good amount of time and was searching for a hiding spot. Bilbo watched him for a few minutes, before noticing Dwalin's hood was laying open behind his head.

He would only get one shot, but that should be all he needed. Carefully, he cut another button, and moved closer. He held his breath when Dwalin looked up, before moving again.

Before he could change his mind, he tossed the button, moving quickly backwards towards the trunk of the tree he stood on, hiding in the shadows. The button shone in the air, twirling, before landing…

Right in the hood of the cloak, a moment before Dwalin turned, eyes searching for something. Bilbo must have made a noise when it landed, perhaps a sigh of relief.

He didn't move as Dwalin looked, and for a moment he thought he was caught. But he turned again, scrutinizing another area. Bilbo breathed quietly, and waited.

Eventually, Dwaling went back to searching, and he escaped along the branches further away from camp, wondering at his next move.

He could go to camp now. It had been a good long time, surely he had made his point by now. But instead, he continued along his path for a few minutes, and dropped to the ground.

There was a creek this way, feeding the trees and making the ground subtly softer under his feet. The burbling sounds became clearer as he neared it, and he smiled at the sound. There were some things that were familiar, at least.

He refilled his flask, such a normal thing to him at this point that he hadn't noticed it was still at his hip, and sat on the edge, watching the water.

There were shallow stones across the water, barely submerged in the water. He eyed them warily. Hobbits, in general, didn't care for running water. But Dwalin would assume that he would avoid the creek, as having wet feet would leave easier marks on the ground, so with a sigh he made his way towards the water, and jumped quickly onto the first stone.

Skipping along, he reached the other side before he could think about slipping and falling into the water. The other side had a long stretch of ting pebbles reaching away from the banks, and he winced at the prints the water left. He shook his head, scooped up a stone and put it with the others, and moved on, into the trees again before he could be traced.

The sun was entirely set now, and the only light came from the half moon above them and the twinkling stars. He moved on, following the banks hidden in the tree line. He had not seen Dwalin yet along the creek, and wasn't sure if that was good or not. It was possible he was waiting by the camp as an ambush. Or he was watching as well, from the other bank, waiting for a good time to capture him.

He slipped further into the trees, and tried to orientate himself. The creek passed along the far side of the rocks he had been on earlier, and he figured he could cross again there, before approaching the camp again from the outcropping. Plan decided, he hurried along, worried that he would find some enemy while moving alone in the woods.

The water got deeper as he followed it, and he worried that it would be difficult to cross again. There were worse things than drowning, he was sure, but he didn't know what. He eyed the waters warily again, now realizing that this silly bet could be more dangerous than any of them had thought at the time. He should have tried to return before the sun set entirely.

There was a log, trapped between several large rocks tumbled into the water, and he thanked every god he could think of that it did not look rotted or loose. He moved onto the wood, feeling the solid surface beneath his feet.

He moved along it carefully, feeling with his toes before trusting his weight. In this way, he almost made it across before something further upriver caused a large wave to drench him. As the water hit, his feet slipped, and he tumbled into the water with a splash.

The water was freezing, and he panicked, flailing for a handhold, no longer worried about being found, only getting out of the water. His hand found something, a root or branch, and he took hold, twisting to pull himself up with both arms. Gasping, he yanked, and felt himself slip, before getting a better hold and moving again out of the water.

He rolled away from the shore, shaking in either fear or cold. He wanted to stay there, and breathe, but he could not stay. He was not sure, anymore, who he was avoiding. Dwalin or the strange fear of what was hiding in the dark. Paranoia was setting in, in the wild where he had no allies nearby and only a weapon he had never used. The beautiful elven sword with no name and no history, which they found in the troll hoard not long ago.

There was nobody nearby, and it seemed that his near miss had gone unnoticed. He pulled himself up, shivering, and looked around. It appeared that, by some luck, he had managed to land on the side he needed.

He started to move again, trying to keep his feet silent. With the way he was shaking it was difficult, but the first think a Hobbit ever learns when they can walk is how to walk without sound. He moved up to the roots again, knowing that the wet steps would not be as easy to see now, and if Dwalin had not heard the water splashing he was either at camp planning an ambush or further away. Bilbo was betting on the ambush, personally, and climbed into the trees, hoping to spot where Dwalin had set up before he saw Bilbo.

The fire looked inviting and warm, and there was food cooking that smelled delicious. However, to go down without knowing where Dwalin was would be dangerous. It was likely that he would notice him before Bilbo saw him, leaving the options of walking in blind or trying to fall straight into camp boundaries.

He climbed down, stopping at the lowest branch, and peered around again. There was no sign of anyone here, except Ori drawing below the tree, on the outskirts of the fire. He was using some spell of Gandalf's, it seemed, to give him light to sketch.

Bilbo dropped behind him, and braced himself for the tackle to the ground that came from Dwalin, hiding in the bushes behind the tree.

"It was a good fight laddie, but I believe I- you're soaked!" Dwalin stood, and yanked Bilbo up with him.

"Yes, I uh- took a tumble into the creek. Thought you had heard it, to be honest." He was still shivering a bit, and Ori moved forward in worry.

"You ought to be more careful, Master Baggins! Oh, that tackle didn't seem necessary, Mister Dwalin…" he trailed off, looking at Dwalin in worry, but the pinched brow seemed to be in worry, not annoyance.

Together, they dragged Bilbo back into camp, where the others jumped up in worry. Within moments, Bilbo was out of his soaked clothes, wrapped in his cloak, and had Thorin glowering at him.

"There was no need to take this game so far, Master Baggins. One would think you were not taking this quest seriously." Bilbo glowered at him for a moment, surprised at his own daring, before shivering again and looking away, at Gandalf. He met his eyes, and saw anxiety, and a bit of amusement.

"Such an effort, Bilbo, and you have nothing to show for it?" The others looked at Gandalf in confusion.

"What do you mean, Gandalf?" Oin finally asked. Bilbo took this moment to turn to Bofur.

"Could you get my sewing kit from my pack? It seems I misplaced a button or two, and I'd like to reattach them before I sleep." Bofur blinked at him, before moving to collect the kit. He gave a sound of surprise.

"I believe I found it, Bilbo! How did this button get here?" He held it up to the light for the rest of the Company to see. Dwalin looked at Bilbo with renewed interest.

"You are a sneaky Hobbit indeed. How did you manage to leave that there?" Bilbo pointed towards the trees, and the large over hanging branches that hung over the camp.

"There were more places than the dirt to travel on. May I ask you to look in your hood?" Dwalin's eyes widened, and with every member watching him carefully he reached back.

"Why, I don't believe it!" He held up the other missing button, and for a moment, all was silent.

"That would make you the winner, Master Baggins. As much as I don't like to admit defeat, it appears you both made it to camp and bested me in tracking." Fili and Kili looked beside themselves in glee.

"What else did you manage?" Balin looked intrigued at who had beaten his brother.

"I reached the creek, the upper edges of the rock outcropping behind you, and I believe we are being followed. Something knocked me loose while I was crossing the creek, and I believe it was something, or someone, going through further still upstream." His words startled Thorin, who glanced in the direction of the creek in worry.

"We will have two watchmen tonight, and we move first light. I do not wish to be trapped here, there are too few places to retreat to if we are outnumbered." He ordered, and there was a flurry of movement to set up sleeping arrangements. Bilbo was handed a bowl of stew, his sewing and the buttons moved back to his things. As they settled again, it was Thorin who sat near Bilbo.

He didn't speak until he had finished eating and had set the bowl aside.

"How is it you beat the best tracker of Erebor and the Blue Mountains?" Bilbo glanced back at him, and saw only interest, instead of the open condescension he had seen up to this point.

"Hobbits are not taught to walk. We are taught to walk without sound or evidence. No footprints if there is any way to avoid it, no sound at all. There has always been a chance that the Shire would be attacked, and we cannot fight. It isn't our nature, and it is not something we have ever learned. So, we are taught to run, to be able to escape and retreat. That's all. I was able to avoid Dwalin because we are all taught to avoid exactly what he has learned to do." Thorin stared at him, for a long time. Bilbo didn't look, and instead watched Nori take a small sum of coins from Oin. He smiled, just a bit.

"I see." He walked away. Bilbo sat there, warming himself, and wondered exactly what was so strange about Hobbits. Small creatures with little means of protecting themselves would find ways of escaping their predators.

"I believe, Bilbo, that they are surprised that you are taught to see them as an enemy." Gandalf settled next to him.

"Hobbits. Halflings. Shire folk. We are the young cousins of elves and Ents, but we are defenseless. Anyone that carries a weapon is a threat, surely they must see that?" Gandalf smiled sadly at him.

"Nobody wants to hear that they are the monsters in someone else's stories, Bilbo. I imagine Master Oakenshield is merely startled to realize that he is exactly that, to you. To them, you are a member of the Company, and whatever else they think of you, that makes you one of them. He did not want to think that someone he is close to fears him." Bilbo shook his head.

"I do not. You know that. He," Bilbo gestured to where Thorin had set up first watch with Balin, "ought to know that as well. You do not trust a monster with your life." Bilbo stood, stretched, and walked to his own things. Someone, perhaps Fili and Kili, had already laid them out.

He was asleep within moments.

XxX

Thorin watched, long past when he lay down, the still form of their Burglar, who had proved his skills only a few hours before. Watching him be half carried into the camp, shivering and dripping wet, had been an interesting struggle between fear, confusion, and oddly enough, pride. Few would have made it a few minutes before Dwalin caught them.

Then the buttons were found, and Bilbo explained what he had done. He had been impressed.

Now, he felt shame, or something close to it, for being one of the races of Middle Earth that had caused Hobbits to sharpen their skills in such a way. Balin had shared his look, when Bilbo explained, and he thought of their trek, years ago, to the Blue Mountains. They had gone through the Shire, and looking back, had likely been a terrifying sight to any Hobbit they passed. Worn from the road and starved thin, they had been a ragged, rough bunch, quick to startle. Peaceful folk had likely taken one look and thought their worst fears were true, that they were being attacked.

He thought of the towns without people, the houses with no lights on, that they had walked by, and felt sick. That was no way to behave around folk who value food and comfort over any kind of riches or glory.

He decided, then and there, that he would be better to the Shire than he predecessors. The Shire, and all who hailed from it. Starting with Bilbo Baggins, resident Burglar.