Thorin pulled away. The company would be getting too far ahead, and they needed to catch up. "Come on," he said. "We've been gone too long."
Bell nodded and turned up the trail. He let her set the pace, as fast as she could comfortably go. It wasn't as fast as he'd like, but he wasn't about to leave her behind to catch up faster.
Much sooner than he expected, they came around a corner and found the company gathered in a circle in the center of the trail, peering at something in the middle.
"What's going on?" Thorin asked, moving ahead of Bell. They shouldn't be stopped, and something in some of their stances told him he wasn't going to like the answer to his question.
Bofur glanced over his shoulder. "Nori's shot himself a squirrel," he said, stepping back to reveal the little corpse, one arrow embedded through its chest.
Thorin's shoulders tightened and his hand clenched. "I told you not to waste the arrows on hunting."
"It only took a few shots," Nori said, scratching his sleeve. "I said I was good enough to take out a squirrel."
"How many shots is a few?" Thorin asked, stalking into Nori's space, his voice low and dangerous.
Nori flinched back a step. His gaze flashed from Thorin to his brothers and back again. "Three? Or maybe four? It's an unfamiliar bow. Had to get the feel of it."
"Five, Uncle," said Fili. He pointed at the dead squirrel. "That's the fifth."
"And where are the rest?"
"Lost in the forest," Dwalin growled. He gave Nori a backhanded slap to his chest. "Can't follow them off the path, can we? I told him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. I'd have grabbed his bow before he got the next shot off."
Nori shifted his feet uncomfortably. "We need the meat. We can't live off waybread alone. There's been no sign of the far side of this cursed forest. Our supplies are already running low. And here's a fine morsel."
Thorin clenched his teeth against the shout that wanted to burst free. Five arrows for a squirrel. "You disobeyed my command, Nori, and now we're weakened. What if we come across Elves? Orcs? What then? Will a squirrel save us?"
"I . . ." Nori stared down at his hands, unable to look Thorin in the face. "We're just hungry."
"We're not animals. We can be hungry and still keep our sense of reason." Thorin fought against his urge to throttle Nori. The younger Dwarf had been on his own too long before answering the call for the quest of Erebor. He'd forgotten what it was to be under someone else's command, but that wasn't an excuse. Thorin's blood simmered.
"Thorin?" came Bell's quiet voice. "It's getting late. I'd feel better if we could cover a bit more ground before night falls."
He blew out a slow breath, not turning to look at her. Clever hobbit. She knew that wasting time here would solve nothing, and that he would shelve his anger, at least for the moment, if she appealed to his protective side. It also gave him a reason for backing down that wouldn't be seen as losing face.
Thorin pressed a finger into Nori's breastbone. "Pick up your squirrel, and move out. All of you."
Nori bent and retrieved his ill-gotten prey. It dangled limply from the arrow's shaft.
In silence, the company moved off again eastward.
"And, Nori," Thorin said, "you'll stand a double watch tonight."
#
Two more days, and Bell felt as if she were walking through a perpetual mist, not in the forest, but in her mind. The waybread was dwindling, and she hardly dared to drink from her rapidly emptying water-skins. Nori's squirrel had proved to be inedible. Even if anyone else had thought to flaunt Thorin's command, they wouldn't do it now.
Bell moved through the days like a wraith, there, but not fully present. It was easier to withdraw into her thoughts. To imagine herself back in her comfortable hole, with sunlight streaming in through the round windows. She began to feel as if the sun were a dream, something that belonged in legend. She thought of Hamfast's roses. How he'd told her they longed for the sun, and couldn't thrive without it. She felt like those roses. Stifled and stunted, tipped with brittle thorns.
The hours blended into an endless blur until a new sound filtered through the trees. Water. Running water. Bell's parched throat constricted. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel cool wetness slipping down her throat.
The source of the sound revealed itself quickly. A swift-flowing river, its waters inky black, sliced a wide line across the path. This had to be the river Beorn had warned them about. Do not drink the water. Do not touch it. The black water is enchanted with unending sleep for any who drink of it.
"It's not right," Kili said in an undertone. "So much water, and not a drop to drink. When we're out of this place, I'm going to find a spring and drink until I float."
"Don't even talk about it," Fili replied. "It only makes me feel worse."
"The question," said Balin, "is how do we cross it."
Once, there had been a bridge spanning the river, but it had rotted away, leaving nothing but decaying logs jutting out of the water, too far apart to leap across, even if they were feeling foolish enough to try.
The darkness of the forest was even deeper than usual, casting the scene in shades of twilight. Bell inched towards the edge of the riverbank to join Bilbo, who stood there already, staring out across the black water.
"There's a boat on the far side," he said.
Bell squinted. Bilbo was right.
"How far?" Thorin asked.
"Not too far. I think someone with a strong arm would be able to throw a rope to it."
None of the Dwarves save Fili could see the boat clearly enough to make the throw, so Thorin's nephew, under Bilbo's guidance, took a rope, with a hook tied to the end, and tossed it out over the river. It took more than one attempt, but soon the little boat was hooked. It did not come directly free, so a number of the Dwarves grabbed hold of their end of the rope and pulled together.
The boat came loose with a snap and rushed towards them. Bell backed away from the bank just before the skiff came careening partway up onto the shore. The Dwarves who had been pulling landed hard on their hind ends.
"Well done," said Bilbo. "That was a good pull."
"How'll we get it across?" asked Dori, eyeing the boat as if it might take into its wooden head to bite him.
"Give me another length of rope," said Kili. He tied it to an arrow and, sighting across the river to a particularly large tree, he shot it across. "Tie it off on this side. We can pull ourselves across."
"That," Thorin muttered, "is a good use of an arrow." He reached down and tested the boat's draft. "This won't hold many. We'll take it in turns. I'll go first with the hobbits. Take it in threes and twos after. Bombur, you come last with Dwalin."
Bombur stuffed his thumbs under his belt. "Why am I always last? It's someone else's turn to be last."
"Do as you're told, Bombur, and no complaining," said Fili. "Someone's got to be last. Besides, Dwalin's last as well."
Bell tried to ignore the squabbling. The water rushed past, dark and fast. She didn't want to be on it, not even in a boat. It looked evil, and she almost felt as if the white foam that formed around barely submerged rocks was mocking her. Taunting. Daring her to come within reach.
"Bell," Thorin said, beckoning her to him. "Give me your hand."
She squeezed her eyes shut and blew out a sharp breath. When she reopened her eyes, she forced herself to move. Thorin's hand was steady as he handed her into the boat. It rocked underfoot. She sank rapidly to her knees and clung to the gunwales. Thorin came next, and Bilbo behind him. The two men took the rope in their hands.
"Push us off," Thorin said.
The boat slipped fully into the current. Bilbo grunted in the rear as the river tried to drag the boat downstream, away from the fixed line. Bell felt the pull. Felt Thorin tense behind her.
She'd finally taken off the sling that morning. Now was the time to see if her arm was back to full use. She let go of the sides and took hold of the rope, lending her strength to the pull. Her elbow twinged, but obeyed. Slowly, the boat cut through the water to the far shore.
Once they reached the far bank, Thorin and Bilbo held the rope steady while Bell clambered out and held the bow long enough for Thorin to follow after. As soon as Bilbo was safe on the bank, the Dwarves hauled back on the first rope, which remained hooked in the stern.
"It's a hard pull, lads," Thorin called back. "Be ready for it."
Slowly, the company made their cautious way across until all that remained were Bombur and Dwalin. Bell tried to stay out of the way. She stood near the edge of the river, just downstream from the crossing, watching. Bombur and Dwalin drew near, close enough she could see Bombur puffing, his face nearly as red as his hair. The prow of the skiff touched the shore. Dwalin hopped out and turned to give the ginger Dwarf a hand.
There was a loud crack and a huge shape bounded out of the trees, barreling down the path towards the company. Dwarves shouted, dove aside. The shape resolved itself into the form of a stag, pronged antlers stretching wide. Bell stood in its path, frozen. Its haunches bunched to leap.
"Get down!" Thorin shouted.
Bell dropped to her knees on the riverbank, her hands over her head. The stag sailed past, where her head had been moments before. A sharp bite of wind sliced past behind it. Bell glanced up to see an arrow embed itself into the animal's rump as it cleared the broad expanse of the river.
A splash drew Bell's attention. Bombur. The stag's leap had unbalanced him, and he'd toppled back into the river. He flailed his arms, the river's grip pulling him downstream towards her.
Bell didn't think. She raced into the water, up to her thighs in the swift current, and grabbed Bombur by the belt. He stopped fighting, and suddenly she was clinging to a dead weight. Bilbo was shouting. The river tried to tear her off her feet. She leaned upstream. Her feet slipped and slid in the silty riverbed. Her shoulder screamed in agony. "Help!" she shrieked. She wasn't going to be able to keep her footing. They'd both be swept away.
"Grab the rope!" Dwalin shouted, and a heavy coil landed just ahead of her. She grabbed it with her left hand and wrapped it around her forearm. "Pull, lads!"
The Dwarves pulled her towards them. Pain lanced through her arms. She felt as if she were being torn in two. A stifled groan forced itself past her gritted teeth, but she didn't release her grip on Bombur, who hung as still as death. It felt like forever, but couldn't have been more than a few seconds-she couldn't have kept her grip for any longer-then Thorin had her by the hand, dragging her the last few inches to shore, and more hands pulled Bombur free of the river's grip.
"Are you hurt?" Thorin's voice was harsh, his face ashen.
Bell struggled to breathe and her arms throbbed, but she shook her head. "See to Bombur," she gasped.
Thorin squeezed her hand and joined the group of Dwarves gathered around their unconscious companion. "He's breathing," someone said, and "Bombur, wake up," said another. They shook him. Poked him. Prodded at him.
Bell tried to watch, but a heavy chill took hold of her legs, rising inch by inch up her body. Her head swam. Her pulse fluttered. She couldn't move her legs. Could barely raise her hand. A swarm of midges buzzed in her brain. So loud. What were they doing inside her? Why couldn't she shake her head? Why was the world going black?
"Thorin?" her voice was a terrified whisper. "Thorin, help . . ."
Blackness slammed down on her like a vise, and she knew no more.
#
Author's Note: Hoping to get one more chapter up at least before the weekend. I'll be away in a place with no internet over the weekend, so I may even be able to get ahead, although I won't be able to post while I'm gone.
