Gandalf stood hidden at the path's edge, his staff now held in front of him. "Flee from here, Forngor, and flee quickly," the wizard said sternly.
When Forngor hesitated, Gandalf lashed out again, a movement surprisingly quick for one of his apparent age. His staff caught the unlucky shape-shifter a hard blow and sent him flying down the path, further into the trees of Mirkwood.
"I think that will be last we see of you," Gandalf directed this comment at the small whirling shape that was Forngor, but the final insult was Gimli's laughter following him as he spiraled down the path.
When the world reoriented itself in front of Forngor's dazed eyes, he immediately shed his bird form for something less aerodynamic. His choice was a bear. Now, instead of leaping lightly over obstacles, or flying over them, he simply plowed through them, taking no notice of the four small forms that darted in his wake.
What finally got his attention was a prick of a blade in his hind leg. He stopped abruptly, and without turning, said, "What little mosquito bites at me now?"
Forngor slowly turned around to see the four Hobbits standing before him, blades drawn. "Keep going into the forest, Forngor," Frodo warned, feeling the malice radiating from the bear. "You follow a northward path that will take you to your homeland."
"I do not wish to return there," Forngor spat.
"Then you will die in Middle-earth," Merry replied.
They approached Forngor slowly, their blades unwavering. Forngor considered transforming into a Balrog or some hideous demon, but already he was tired from the race through the woods, the injury of the axe, and the transformations from wolf to bird to bear. Instead, he turned tail and ran, lumbering through the woods. But the Hobbits pursued him, stabbing at his legs and back with their blades, sharp stinging blows that penetrated the bear's thick fur and hide. Plagued by their relentless poking, the shape-shifter let out a rumble of dismay and became a fleet-footed stag.
Bolting through the woods, he was helped on his way by a well-aimed arrow that pierced his tail. Aragorn ran after him, traveling as lightly as any deer. When Forngor hesitated or faltered, an arrow would whistle through the air to nick an ear or his tail, or bite at his flanks and hooves. Driven by this unseen predator, Forngor ran on, his eyes rolling in their sockets and foam gathering at the corners of his mouth. He barely noticed when Aragorn stopped firing arrows and merely followed him for a while before drawing his sword and planting himself in the path in case the shape-shifter decided to turn around.
He did notice, however, the lithe form that dropped from the tree branches in front of him. Forngor stopped immediately and stood there, sides heaving and sweat-slicked, but braced for an attack.
Instead, Legolas withdrew to the side of the path. "Pray, continue on, Forngor."
The deer bleated angrily, unable to form any words for the moment. A minute passed in silence as Legolas slowly strung and bent his bow and fingered an arrow and his adversary commanded his heart to slow down.
When Legolas began to speak, it was in a soft voice barely heard above the rustling leaves. "Why did you attack Mirkwood, when you knew it to be folly to do so?"
"You would not understand," the deer replied.
Legolas made no vocal reply, only stepped forward into the path and raised his bow. Forngor lurched forward a step, as if in protest, and the Elf loosed the arrow. It struck the deer in the chest; the force of it sent the creature stumbling back. Forngor coughed weakly, a strange sound from a stag, and swayed on his hooves. He lowered his head and Legolas saw blood drip from the deer's mouth. Forngor was dying. The flight through the forest had completely exhausted him.
The stag raised his antlered head slightly. His eyes were glazed and glassy, large pools of cloudy gray. He stumbled forward, pulling his strength together for a charge at the Elf. Instead of stopping the shape-shifter's charge, Legolas grabbed the stag by the antlers and used the animal's momentum to swing him further down the path.
"Farewell, Forngor," he called as the deer staggered down the path, trying to regain his sense of direction.