Sleep was difficult that night as Morine replayed the evening in her mind. The taste and smell of Beorn had overwhelmed her, yet even now, she craved more. She remembered how the sun had set: oranges and reds staining the landscape before plunging them into the darkness of the mountains' shadows. The stars were twinkling brightly by the time they walked back to the homestead, hand in hand.

While she treasured the friendship she had forged with him, she felt torn. Years of isolation in the forest with no interaction had left her lonely and feeling less than human in her panther form. She knew what her purpose was, yet she was not fulfilling it. Romenstar had continued onward with their mission, leaving her behind. Since leaving Valinor, she had longed for a place to settle down and call home, though the adventuring had been fun in the beginning.

Beorn made her feel human and real, going against her Istari sensibility. She was an immortal with a purpose, and yet she was attracted to his primitive, simple ways. The rugged earthiness about him was the same as the forest she had fallen in love with. It made her feel alive, and she relished the youthful feeling. The thought of his lips touching hers made her heart race, and she struggled mightily to sleep.

Breakfast the next morning was as silent as any other meal they had shared, with the added weight of her departure on their minds. Morine was beginning to feel at home here, though she knew it was more reason to leave. The luxuries his settled lifestyle offered were things she could not allow herself to grow accustomed to, since returning to the forest was her ultimate goal. She topped off her bag with a few more provisions before heading out the door with the stoic host.

She had intended to travel in panther form and carry the bag in her mouth, but she could not risk damaging Gandalf's gifts, knowing that her long sharp teeth would damage the ebony bow. Beorn had politely offered to let her use his finest horse with much more kindness than he shown the other wizard, but she refused. The steed would make stealthy travel through the stagnant forest more difficult and attract attention that she did not need. She would take the northern path that Beorn had told the company to take, knowing that it was made—and likely guarded by—the elves. If memory served her right, they were less than friendly about anyone who could pass for an outsider.

Standing beneath the veranda, Beorn and Morine struggled to find a proper goodbye. "I have to get going if I am to make it to the path by nightfall tomorrow," she finally said. Time was not on her side, and traveling in human form was only going to slow her down.

He grumbled in agreement as she stepped toward him. Words were not enough, yet no gesture seemed appropriate. "Stay safe," he ordered.

"I will," she reassured him, though he knew that despite their run-in with orcs that she was able to protect herself, even when alone.

He placed a hand on her hip and pulled her into his torso so he could plant a sweet kiss on her forehead. Inhaling her scent for the last time, he released her without another word. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently before stooping to grab her items. Without looking back, she headed northward into the plains. At the valley of charred ground where she had spent the last two weeks training, she could not help but turn around. He was nowhere to be seen, and she was frustrated to find her eyes filling with tears. While she hoped the she would see him again, the farther she could get herself from his place, the better.

The early autumn day passed quickly through the beautiful countryside which brought her to the northern end of the forest. With each cold wind, leaves fell from the trees. She found the elven path that was nearly hidden in the tree line, though she had expected nothing less from the secretive race. With the rest of the forest taken from them, the elves were protective of what area they had left.

Stepping into the forest, she immediately noticed how different the northern end was from the southern end that she knew well. Most of the flora were ones she was familiar with, but a few were new to her. The sun had already begun to set, but it seemed that this side of the forest received more light, as she could see more easily here, though the difference would be as minute to a visitor as comparing shades of gray. As long as she did not encounter any elves, she would be fine.

For many days, she traveled as far as her legs would carry her before collapsing to the ground in hunger to consume ever staler biscuits. At night, she would change into a panther and lie down with a paw over her precious weaponry, watching through the pitch black with her feline vision, ready to fend off anything that might bother her, ears flicking at every sound.

The magical river of black water that Beorn had warned her about appeared on the path ahead one day. Evaluating the surroundings, she found the remains of an old bridge that was off the path, though it had long since rotted and been swept away with the posts remaining on either side of the banks. Back on the path, she studied the opposite side with her keen eyes. The dirt showed tracks from a boat that had dragged ashore at some point, though she found no other sign of a boat. Morine found it a creepy place.

While she analyzed the situation, she sat down to eat her rations for that day. At first, she could only think of throwing her bow and arrow to the other shore, which would be easy enough for her to do, and then climb the trees as a panther, carrying her bag in her mouth, to make her way across the limbs. However, the tree limbs only reached across the expanse in but a few places, and the idea of tossing her weaponry away from her, if only temporarily, seemed too risky, given the sign that someone had crossed the river recently. She could try to hook a line around a limb on the other side and swing across, but she had no hook and would not risk falling in.

At long last, the glint of her silver arrows in the pale gray light of the daytime gave her an idea. She fiddled with an arrow in her fingers, appreciating its strength and weight. Nocking an arrow, she felt the tenseness of the bow and smiled. The set suited her perfectly. Finally, at the screaming of her arm muscles, she released the arrow.

Without hardly trying, lightning had concentrated in the tip of the silver arrow, and it flew like a blade of light, crackling with energy as it whizzed deep into a thick tree on the other bank that she had been aiming for. The unexpected sound of thunder rumbled and rolled as the tree crashed loudly into the river, spraying water high into the air and scaring off small creatures. Her delighted smile morphed into a grimace, wishing that the tricky Gandalf had warned her of that effect. "Where there is lightning, there is thunder," she could hear him saying as she made a mental note to harangue him about it the next time they saw each other. No doubt, he would be laughing at her if he had witnessed the spectacle.

Morine rushed across the fallen tree that barely spanned the width of the river, knowing that the sound had surely alerted the elves of her presence and scared off any creature within at least a five mile radius.

As her feet hit the other shore, she remembered to retrieve her arrow. It was stuck into the fallen trunk, underneath the current. "Shit," she said, realizing that she would be unable to grab it without getting her hands wet and risking the effects of the river. Standing on the tree for a moment, she headed back to the shore and decided to cut her losses. The longer she pandered, the greater the risk of being found by the temperamental Elvenking's guards.

Though she remained on the path, Morine could often see vast spider webs in the trees not far away. They were three times her height, webbing thick as rope, and in some places, the webs were concentrated around each other in such numbers that the thought of how many spiders must occupy them made her skin crawl. While the huge and malignant spiders occupied the south in some places, the north seemed much more populated. How the elves could put up with the pests, she did not know.

With each passing night, she found herself thinking more and more of Beorn. As winter was drawing ever nearer, his fireplace and comfortable couch seemed a distant dream. Already, his kisses were but a vague memory. At times she struggled with herself to keep pressing onward, especially when she wanted with every fiber of her being to head home southward to fight the Necromancer with Gandalf and the Council. She would close her eyes and reminisce of the Carrock—the way the sunset had splashed colors across the landscape and the feel of Beorn's warm, calloused hand enveloping her own. Her weaponry was a reminder that Gandalf was depending on her to help the company and that he believed in her, though she was struggling to trust him to take care of Dol Guldur.

Time in the forest passed differently than in the outside world, even though she could tell the difference between night and day. Morine lost count of how many days had passed, and it simultaneously felt as though a week or several months had passed. Weariness threatened to dull her senses, but she knew that the trees only grew so far.

At long last, she spotted the brightness of daylight ahead, though it was nearly a wintry grey. Her heart leapt with hope and pride. She had made it through a strange part of the dark forest by herself, and with no run-ins with the troublesome elves, no less. Counting her lucky stars as evening fell, she escaped the thick trees and into the vast eastern lands, where there was little vegetation of any kind. What life existed here was dreary and paltry.

It was not until nearly midnight that she came the mythical land that both Gandalf and Bilbo had told her about. The land was blackened and charred, like the area she and the old man had made while sparring, but it went for miles and miles as far as she could see. Nothing grew between here and where the mighty Lonely Mountain rose in the middle of the wasteland, save for the remainders of charred tree stumps. It was many a mile yet to reach the base of the mountain, and she kicked herself for taking on such a task. How would she be able to find the company? The mountain had many arms that reached out into the flat land, and it was immensely broad.

As if in answer to her rising fears, a tremendous roar came from the direction of the mountain. The dragon must be tremendous, as its roar was terrifying even at this distance. She felt the shrill sound deep in her bones, and she knew that Smaug was awake and unhappy. The sound of crashing rock accompanied it, and she concluded that he must be tearing at the mountainside. Fear raced down her spine for her dear friend Bilbo and his companions. Ducking behind the biggest burnt tree stump that she could find, she morphed into a panther so she could see better through the darkness of the night.

Squinting her eyes, she saw that the size of the dragon was much larger than she had even imagined, and his scales were brilliant red and golden. His wing span would dwarf any building she had seen, and it almost seemed that he was made of fire itself. Black smoke rose and red hot flames spewed from his mouth and nostrils with his normal breathing.

Unsatisfied with his retaliation against whatever had angered him, Smaug flew away from the mountain and off toward the south, puffing huge flames in a long stream below him as he flew, and the fire licked the already charred land. She saw that a river ran from the mountain down to the south where he was headed, and as he blew his deathly breath on it, steam rose in huge shafts.

When the monster disappeared on the horizon, Morine sank defeated to the ground, hiding behind the stump. "What the hell did I get myself into?"