Hi, Fanfiction! I'm back again. It has been a while, but I've been having a break until I start the second movie. I'm quite excited about sharing this chapter with you. It hasn't got my best writing in it but it has got some (hopefully) intriguing scenes that you will see more of throughout the movie. I really hope that you enjoy Chapter Nine! Remember I love to hear from you so do review and message me! Anyway, I'll leave you to it!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit or any of the characters, only Amariel and some insignificant others.

Chapter Nine: Friend Or Foe

APOV

She had a sculpted figure which was twine-thin. Her waist was tapered and she had a pale complexion. A pair of arched ebony eyebrows looked down on sweeping eyelashes. Her pointed ears framed a delicate nose. A set of angel-white teeth were hidden as she gazed out into the wilderness. One could see her untamed, starlight white hair. Her enticing, dark-ringed, blue eyes stared in anticipation at the rough boulder, making her bite her full, heart shaped bottom lip. Her strips of dress had seen better days; they were almost wearing off her body, her boots had abandoned the soles and were teared open in many parts, and her usually flawless skin was etched with bruises, gashes, and cuts. If someone should of been passing her on the road, they would see a battle-worn woman, not a beautiful She-elf. The tranquil mountain was swaddled in a veil of white mist. It was eerily silent and the reason was obvious. A Pale Orc and his wargs were too close for comfort. Howls and moans pierced the air liked dagger puncture flesh. Painful. Amariel's fingernails gripped onto the hard surface of the rock. Her nerves were pumping through her body wildly; but it wasn't only because of Azog. It was because of Bilbo. The brave hobbit had volunteered to take watch higher up the mountain to see where the pack of orcs were. Amariel had tried to persuade him to stay, but he was resolved. The dwarves were silent, only sharing anxious or edgy looks, while Mithrandir smoked carefully on his pipe. It had felt near to an hour since Bilbo had gone, making Amariel very uneasy. Impatiently, she tapped her fingers and ran a hand through her hair while her eyes and ears were as alert as a hawk. Crack. Amariel lifted her head in a rapid motion. Crack, Crack. Footsteps were approaching standing on a few twigs as they did so.

"It's Bilbo," Amariel muttered to herself then addressed everyone. "He's back!" The dwarves turned their heads, and sure enough saw the hobbit jogging toward them, panting slightly, and wearing a disturbed expression. She walked up and patted his back affectionately, relief etched into her motions. But his alert expression sent a wave of unease surge through her bones. Soon, the entire company was harassing him with questions.

"How close is the pack?"

"Too close," Bilbo answered, still catching his breath. "A couple of leagues, no more. But that's not the worst of it." Her heart paused in it's pumping; what was worse? How could anything possibly be worse? Did the wargs sniff us out, and were they on their way now? Were their more orcs on their way?

"Have the wargs picked up our scent?" Dwalin asked without letting the poor soul even get a breather. But still, if this truly was serious, we needed to know right away.

"Not yet; but they will," he answered. "We have another problem,"

"Did they see you?" Mithrandir interrogated and grew wide-eyed when Bilbo did not reply. "They saw you!"

"No that's no it," he shook his head, starting to grown annoyed at the interruptions. Mithrandir smiled and shared a curt nod with everyone.

"What did I tell you? Quiet as a mouse. Excellent burglar material." The dwarves and the elf muttered their agreement and appreciation. Bilbo really was a skilled burglar even though he did not think it, spectacular at hiding from their enemies; hopefully that would help them at the mountain.

"Will you listen?" the hobbit exasperated but no-one heard him over the noise except Amariel who fell silent instantly, knowing there was something he hadn't told them yet. "Will you just listen? I'm trying to tell you there is something else out there!" At his raised tone the company too fell quiet, only letting out groans of annoyance and fear when he had finished. What else could be out there that was worse than orcs? She didn't know, and, quite frankly didn't want to.

"What form did it take?" questioned the grey wizard in a serious tone. "Like a bear?"

"Ye—" the hobbit paused looking curious. "Yes, but bigger. Much bigger." What Bilbo was describing did not sound friendly nor like anything she'd like to meet.

"You knew about this beast?" Bofur asked. Mithrandir turned away and looked over into the valley and mountains that lay ahead of them. The view somehow made Amariel exhausted. Her wounds had still not fully healed and caused her much agony when she performed any drastic movements. The Lonely Mountain was situated so far away that she was beginning to doubt her capability to make it there all in one piece. She drew her eyes away from the landscape and onto the argument that had started amongst the dwarves. "I say we double back," put in Bofur.

"And be run down by a pack of orcs," Thorin threw away the idea immediately.

"I agree, we would not make it far with Azog on our tail. We would have more hope jumping off a cliff," she added, making Thorin nod in thanks to her. After the two had made amends at the Carrock days ago, they had began to establish a rather loyal friendship.

"There is a house," Mithrandir silenced them with his new information. A flicker of hope lit n her chest. Perhaps doom was not as near as they thought. "Not far from here, where we might take refuge." The flicker died down again, the house did not sound trustworthy nor the person who lived in it.

"Whose house?" Thorin voiced with a roll of his eyes."Are they friend or foe?" The dwarves waited patiently but anxiously to hear the wizard's answer.

"Neither. He will help us, or he will kill us." No, this person did not sound reliable one bit. Mumbles of dismay were passed around the group.

"What choice do we have?" said Thorin. My ears heard the loud drumming of my heart, pounding heavily in my chest. A ear-splitting roar erupted into the air. It sounded like the violent cry of a beast. It sounded close; too close.

"None."

The company sprinted through turquoise-blue streams that wound their way through the valley, babbling and burbling, as it sprung over the limestone rocks in its way. The golden globe sun glared at the parakeet-green plain infested with lavender and white flowers, butter-yellow bushes, and shaggy, over-grown trees. The throat felt dry, her arms were pumping uselessly, and her head was throbbing heavily. She willed that they were not far away from the house, or she would surely collapse. Twigs cracked and scratched beneath her feet, and the terrain grew rough and duller.

"Come on!" Mithrandir encouraged, gesturing them onward. How was he not looking as faint as the rest of them, perhaps it was another of his wizard 'advantages'. They entered into a forest that was tannin-brown. The grass was crispy under her feet. Hares were scampering away up ahead; she guessed they had sensed the preying orcs that had picked up their scent and was now chasing after them. Adrenalin pumped into her giving her strength enough to keep running down the slope. Suddenly a terrifying roar broke out, making Amariel wince and a shiver tremor down her spine. The company paused, and fright glazed over their eyes. "This way!" the wizard urged. "Quickly!" Puffing, she pushed herself onward, leaving the sheltered forest and arriving back onto the flaxen grass. Her eyes caught sight of solace; a house. The house. It wasn't overly-large and they could only spot they mossy roof over the surrounding hedge and juniper trees. "To the house! Run!" Amariel tried to run faster, but her tired legs were holding her back. Surprisingly, Bombur, who was wearing a rather shocker facial expression, jogged past her, and every other dwarf ahead of him. At another time, it would of been rather entertaining, but due to the circumstances, she didn't even crack a smile. As another petrifying, prolonged cry rang out, the company passed through the open wooden gate into the lush garden. It was nothing short of beautiful, but she did not give it a second thought; he eyes were trained on the house's door. "Come on, get inside!" Everyone banged against the door, attempting to bust it open. It rattled, but otherwise did not budge. They tried again, but only achieved the same outcome. Fearful shouts consumed the air as the large, black, yellow-eyed, beast hurdled toward them. "Open the door!" Mithrandir yelled.

"Quickly!" Thorin pushed his way to the front, unlatched the door, making them all topple inside. Once all the dwarves were inside, they heaved the door shut. A massive, scared face with drooling jaws jabbed through the door. The dwarves yelled to each other to 'push harder!' or to 'don't let it get in!'. Finally the head shrunk back from the door, and they were able to latch it shut. Amariel breathed heavily and slid down to the floor, sweat visible on her aching forehead. Exhaustion hit her, and she felt as if she wanted to throw up. She swallowed, and struggled to get her eyes to focus.

"What is that?" Ori asked, scared.

"That is our host," Mithrandir replied, shocking everyone. "His name is Beorn. And he's a Skin-changer," Befuddlement took her. A skin-changer? How? Were they not supposed to be extinct since long ago? "Sometimes, he's a huge black bear. Sometimes, he's a great strong man. The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with," Mithrandir turned and looked over the company. "However, he is not overfond of dwarves,"

"He's leaving," Ori commented. Dori hurriedly tugged him away.

"Come away from there!" he scolded. "it's not natural, none of it! It's obvious, he's under some sort of dark spell!"

"Don't be a fool," the wizard answered gruffly. "He's under no enchantment but his own. Alright, now, get some sleep, all of you. You'll be safe here tonight," The company began to scatter over the hay-covered stable-like house, looking for a place to rest. Amariel stood up uneasily, and staggered over to a spare patch of hay where Bilbo was on one side and Kili on the other.

"Amariel, are you alright?" Bilbo muttered, concerned. She did not answer, only gave a curt nod his way before settling down. "Are you sure? You don't look it. You look as if you're about to be sick!" he persisted. She smiled at his kindness to her.

"I'm sure, just a little tires, is all," she replied. Bilbo did not look completely convinced, but then she saw his eyes grow wide. "What is it?" The hobbit shifted closer to her, and reached into his pant's pocket. She was confused; what was he doing?

"Uh, I found this in the goblin tunnels, thought you might want it back," he said, and handed over Amariel's necklace! A few beads were looking as thought they might fall off and it was all rather dusty, but otherwise, it appeared to be unharmed. How did he find it? The goblins through it over the edge into the darkest caves of the Misty Mountains. It sounded a little suspicious but she chose to ignore it.

"Oh, Bilbo, thank you so much!" she threw her arms around him, still clutching the necklace. A chuckle escaped his lips and he pulled away.

"It's alright." She smiled and clasped the jewellery around her neck, feeling a part of her restore. But something else was missing. Or more like someone. Her beloved horse, Silver Prince, wandered into her mind. She imagined his silky mane, loving eyes, wet pink nose, and felt a large longing for him to be next to her. She, to her shame, hadn't given him much thought since he'd ran off, all those many days before, but now it had suddenly hit her. She wondered if she would ever see him again; and she hoped with all her heart that she would.

...

A young elfling skipped through an enchanted forest with an innocent heart. The deep, harmonious ballad of it's ancient song. With a heart as light as the first day of spring, she dove into a fresh pile of crackling leaves, a beautiful giggle escaping her lips as she did so. A leaf landed on her mouth, making her blow it, and watch it tumble away. The afternoon sunlight glittered through the old, trees that were her friends, and flickered upon her lapis blue eyes with a tint of violet near the pupil. A intricate cobalt butterfly fluttered over her head, she jumped to her feet and began to follow it, her hands in the air. It darted between shafts of lustrous-gold light, the little girl following close behind, a wide smile shining on her face. The butterfly paused and perched on the top of her nose, it's wings tickling her like little ripples of silk. Another laugh was let out, proceeded by a sneeze, resulting in the insect to flutter away. The girl's features frowned in disappointment and she turned around to walk back, when a startling neigh echoed out. She stopped and slowly looked behind her, and let out an awed gasp. A horse as white as the purest snow, with deep brown eyes, and a flowing mane stood majestically, glowing in the birth-stone bright light. Step by step, the elfling walked toward him, nervous that she might frighten him away if she ran. But the horse looked as calm as ever. Her fingertips reached out and caressed his warm, delicate coat. When the horse did not pull away, she giggled and wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, making him nicker softly.

"I love you, horsey," she whispered into his now ruffled mane, and got a neigh in response. Suddenly, footsteps were heard behind her, and she let go of the magnificent beast and spun around to see the Lothlórien patrolling guards. They stared sternly at her and one grabbed her by the wrist.

"This is no part of the forest for a young elfling like yourself to wander. We'll drop you off with the Lady." The girl poked her tongue out at him as the guard turned his head, then looked back but saw that the horse had vanished. A silent tear slid down her cheek.

"Please, come back to me, horsey, please. I promise one day that we'll meet again," she whispered, and, she could've been mistaken, but thought she heard a far away neigh, answering her.
Darkness swirled like ink around the picture, crawling in circles and circles, and—

Amariel sat up, sweat on her forehead, eyes wide, and panting heavily. The house was still dark, and the dwarves had not paused in their snoring. What was that? It appeared like a dream, but felt like a memory of the past. Her mind trailed back to her nightmare about Azog in Rivendell. What was happening to her? Biting her lip, she thought about the stunning horse in her dream and then to her beloved Silver Prince—no, it couldn't of been, it was... impossible! Her pulsing heart, however, argued another point. Her past had been blurry for almost her entire life, why now was it coming back to grace—or haunt her. But the dream started, even then, to slip into shadow, and her eyes began to droop and close once more.

"And don't come out until I give the signal." Those were the words that Amariel woke up to hours later. The late morning ray's danced on her pale face, as she sat up, rubbed her sleepy eyes, and let a not completely ladylike yawn. She had never been an morning person and after the events the day and night before held, she was even more unwilling to get up. But shaking her head, she got dizzily to her feet, brushed the straw out of her hair and shredded clothes, and staggered toward the wide-awake company.

"Right," Bofur replied, looking out the small, high window. "Wait for the signal." What were they talking about? What signal?

"And no sudden moves, or loud noises, and don't overcrowd him!" Mithrandir said, sternly. Overcrowd who? Questions tumbled through her mind. Why was she always clueless; weren't elves supposed to be wise? "And only come out in pairs. Right." The wizard turned to walk out with a nervous Bilbo by his side, when he stopped and looked at Bombur. "No, actually, Bombur, um, you count as two so you should come out alone." Bombur nodded and continued to chew on his carrot. Remember, wait for the signal!" The wizard and the hobbit left the house.

"Right, the signal," Bofur repeated, but then a worried look entered his face. "What signal would that be?" The dwarves groaned and the She-elf rolled her eyes. That was her friend, always expecting everyone to know everything.

"What in Middle-earth is going on?" Amariel asked. The dwarves, for the first time, noticed she was there and awake, and grumbled their good mornings.

"Uh, well, Gandalf and Bilbo are going to talk with, uh, the skin-changer. Apparently it needs delicate handling and we're not quite the ones to do the job," Fili explained. Amariel gave a curt nod in understanding and listened to the conversation with her elf-ears, hoping it would go well.

"Good morning!" Mithrandir called. An axe stopped slicing logs, and a gruff, intimidating voice answered.

"Who are you?"

"I am Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey,"

"Never heard of him," who she guessed to be Beorn said, slightly insulting.

"I'm a wizard," Mithrandir introduced, a nervous edge to his voice. "Perhaps you've heard of my colleague, Radagast the Brown. He resides in the southern borders of Mirkwood,"

"What do you want?" Beorn interrogated. Amariel felt like this conversation wasn't going exactly as planned.

"Well, simply to thank you for your hospitality. You may have noticed that we took refuge in your lodgings here last night," the wizard continued.

"Who is this little fellow?" interrupted Beorn, suspicious. She tensed up at mention of Bilbo and her ears grew particularly sharp.

"Oh, well, this would be Mr Baggins from the Shire,"

"He's not dwarf is he?" the terrifying, gravely voice asked. Her mind recalled that Mithrandir had told them that the skin-changer was not overfond of dwarves, and bit her bottom lip.

"Why, no. No, he's a hobbit," Mithrandir replied. "A good family, and unimpeachable reputation," Amariel could almost see Bilbo smile at his introduction.

"A halfling, and a wizard. How come you here?" Beorn said, not using correct grammar.

"Oh, well, the fact is that we've had a bad time of it from goblins in the mountains," Mithrandir retold, while she winced at the mention of those vile creatures, and traced her finger over the red stripes on her back where they had whipped her.

"What did you go near goblins for? Stupid thing to do,"

"You are absolutely right."

"There it is! Go, go!" Bofur urged, having spotted the signal. Amariel thought it a bit strange that her friend signalled for them to come now. Wasn't it slightly early to let Beorn see an entire company of dwarves? Ignoring that fact, thinking that the wizard knew what he was doing, she gestured for the first pair of Balin and Dwalin to move out. She heard the two dwarves introduce themselves.

"A—And I m—must confess that, uh, several of our group are, in fact, dwarves." To her, Mithrandir sounded rather worried. Had they came to early? Or did Bofur accidentally mistake a insignificant movement to be the signal?

"Do you call two 'several'?" Beorn growled, on edge.

"Well, uh, now you put it that way, u—uh—uh, y—yes, there could be more than two." Dori urged another two dwarves out of the house. Amariel had a quick thought that she should stop them, but it was really too late now,"

"Wait, that's us," Gloin said.

"Oh, and here are some more of our, uh, happy troop," Mithrandir introduced, trying to improvise.

"And you call six a 'troop'?" the skin-changer asked, his temper rising, and her friend gave a nervous laugh. "What are you a travelling circus?" Bofur directed another pair out of the door, making the She-elf shake her head. If Beorn decided he was going to kill them all, there was no point in drawing it out.

"Ori, and Dori, at your service," Dori said, anxiously.

"I don't want your service!" Beorn declined viciously, while the wizard attempted to calm his down.

"Absolutely understandable." Fili and Kili were next to meet the angry man. "Oh, Fili and Kili. I'd quite forgotten. Oh, yes, and Nori, Bofur, Bifur... and Bombur," he said as the four dwarves tumbled outside. Amariel decided to go next, so took a big breath and walked out of the house. "Ah, and Amariel, she is our She-elf travelling companion, yes."

"Is that it?" snarled Beorn. "Are there any more?" A moment later, Thorin stepped into sight, and realization flashed in the great man's eyes.


The company sat around a wooden, rectangular table in Beorn's kitchen. It was, surprisingly, quite beautiful with the carvings and the pillars and a small wood chess game by the bench. Everything was bigger than normal though, because, as Amariel had discovered, the skin-changer towered above everyone. He had more body hair than usual, long, bushy eyebrows above hazel unblinking hazel eyes, unruly hair, and wore sagged brown clothes. The dwarves were all devouring the breakfast on the table as if they hadn't eaten for days, which was probably true. She, although she was hungry, only picked at her food, too busy with the thoughts in her head. Beorn poured milk from an overlarge jug into Fili's huge cup.

"So, you are the one they call Oakenshield," he said, addressing Thorin, who was not eating either, only leaning against a pillar. "Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"

"You know Azog?" Thorin said with expressionless features, but you could tell he was surprised. "How?" Beorn turned away to busy himself in the kitchen.

"My people were the first to live in the mountains, before the orcs came down from the north. The Defiler killed most of my family, but some he enslaved," he started, emotions entwined into his voice. Her eyes lowered to the broken remnants of a manacle on his dirt-plastered wrist, and felt a pang of sorrow for his miserable past. "Not for work, you understand, but for sport. Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him." Hearing this, her anger for Azog grew and a smirk came to her face when she remembered how she had blinded his one eye. Beorn returned to the table and poured more milk into Ori's cup.

"There are other's like you?" Bilbo asked, curious.

"Once there were many," he replied, sadness in his eyes and voice.

"And now?" the hobbit persisted, as innocent as a newborn lamb. But also like a newborn lamb, he did not understand the way of the world. People, creatures, animals, they died all the time. Some of murderous, violent deaths, like Beorn's family, but some were peaceful and more like falling into a never-ending sleep.

"Now, there is only one." The company grew silent and some braver dwarves sent their host mourning looks. "You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn," he said, changing the subject, referring to the company's now not-so-secret venture.

"Before Durin's Day falls, yes," Mithrandir clarified, smoking on his pipe.

"You are running out of time," the skin-changer pointed out. Everyone could feel that their time was limited, especially Thorin who was constantly on edge. But when Beorn mentioned it, the reality of them not reaching Erebor in time, hit them hard. The wizard, sensing the concern in the group, acted as if running out of time was not an option.

"Which is why we must go through Mirkwood." Her heart stiffened. Mirkwood, Mirkwood. The word kept jabbing through her mind. No, she was mistaken, her friend did not say that dreaded word. Her hands gripped the table.

"A darkness lies upon that forest. Fell 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, unless in great need," Beorn informed, deeply. Du-dum, du-dum, du-dum, her heart was pumping, and her head was throbbing. They must not go near that awful place. Never again would she enter that forest.

"We will take the Elven Road," Mithrandir explained. "That path is still safe,"

"'Safe?' The Wood-elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin. They're less wise, and more dangerous," he continued. Wood-elves, Wood-elves, the words echoed in her head. Too many painful memories hid in them—in him. "But it matters not,"

"What do you mean?" Thorin cross-questioned.

"These lands are crawling with orcs. They're numbers are growing, and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive," he informed, and stood up from his seat. What were they going to do if they could not walk to the forest, if they were to choose that path, which Amariel would not? "I don't like dwarves. They're greedy, and blind; blind to the lives the deem lesser than their own," he paused and picked up a small white mouse that had formerly been scampering upon the table, and approached Thorin who was standing with his arms crossed. "But orcs I hate more. What do you need?"

The noon sun shone like a glowing medallion in a sky of zaffre blue, injected with swirling chantilly-white clouds. Beorn returned back to the house after an hour in the stable, saddling the ponies for the journey. His tall figure beckoned for them to follow him outside, and they obliged quickly. Amariel glanced down at the huge, leather boots that the skin-changer had given to her in replace of her old ones. The company came to the stable and waited for Beorn to bring out the animals. One by one the dwarves and Mithrandir were given black and white patched horses, until it seemed that Beorn was not going to lend them any more. At last, the man walked out of the stable, leading a pure white creature with warm, longing eyes. her heart skipped a beat and a smile washed over her face.

"You came back," she whispered, not to Beorn, but to her beloved Prince. The horse nickered and trotted up to the She-elf who kissed his pink nose, and stroked his stunning cheekbones with her thumb. She was overcome with happiness, and let a single tear of joy leak from her one eye. Wiping away the tear, she turned to Beorn. "How?" she asked, simply.

"Him was wandering in the outskirts of the forest, and so I brought him back to my house to get looked after. I thought elf like you deserved a elegant horse," he retold. She nodded her head at him in gratitude, and wrapped her horse in another hug as the rest of the company lead their horses into the forest.
As the dwarves loaded their animals with supplies, Beorn was informing the wizard and the elf of some important matters. "You will leave my ponies before you enter the forest,"

"Oh, you have our word," said Mithrandir, looking over at Amariel. A chorus of rambled bird squawks pierced the air. "We're being watched,"

"Yes," Beorn replied. "The orcs will not give up. They will hunt the dwarves until they see them destroyed,"

"But why now?" Amariel asked.

"That remains unseen by most. But a shadow has been creeping back into this world, one that has been thought to be forever lost," the man answered in a riddle that she did not yet fully compromise.

"Yes, but what has made the Defiler crawl from his hole?" asked Mithrandir.

"There is an alliance between the orcs of Moria and the sorcerer in Dol Guldur," the skin-changer answered, repeating what he had said earlier that day.

"Are you sure of this?"

"Packs have been seen gathering there," Beorn said. "Each day, more and more come,"

"What do you know of this sorcerer?" questioned the wizard, and Amariel noticed from the corner of her eye that a certain dwarf prince had taken interest in their conversation. "The one they call the Necromancer?"

"I know he is not what he seems," he replied, speaking in another riddle. "Fell things are drawn to his power. Azog pays homage to him,"

"Gandalf!" the impatient voice of Thorin called. "Time is wasting!" The two members of the company started toward Thorin when Beorn's voice caught them.

"There is more. Not long past, word spread the dead had been seen walking near the High Fells of Rhudaur." Her eyebrows creased in bewilderment. The dead were walking? But there was only tales of that happening long ago, when Sau—She stopped herself just in time from thinking that awful thought. There was no point thinking about the dark times that might never come to pass again.

"The dead?" Mithrandir questioned, speaking Amariel's thoughts.

"Is it true?" the great man continued, staring without blinking at the wizard. "Are there tombs in those mountains?" She glance across to her friend who appeared to be lost in thought, his eyes glazed over with memory.

"Yes," replied Mithrandir eventually. Amariel frowned and a spark of fright lit in her chest. Was there a chance that the dark times would fall on them again, she willed that they would not. "Yes, there are tombs up there."

"I remember a time when a great evil ruled these lands. One powerful enough to raise the dead. If that enemy has returned to Middle-earth, I would have you tell me," Beorn said. chilling her bones.

"Saruman the White says it's not possible," her friend averted the idea. "The enemy was destroyed and will never return,"

"And what does Gandalf the Grey say?" The wizard did not answer, and a chorus of squawks was heard again. "Go now. While you have the light." A howl penetrated through the forest. "Your hunters are not far behind."

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