Chap 7
Drizzt soon found that their wizard was not only eccentric but inept, failing to do anything at all meaningful in the face of an avalanche. It was lucky she was alive at all, considering where she'd been when it had occurred. It might have been different if anyone had shouted something useful like a warning rather than just Gandalf's pointless magic. Instead she'd barely peeked out of the saddlebag when the snow buried her. As to why she was hiding in an empty (formerly full of food) saddlebag… well it was freezing up in the mountains and her new body had little trouble bending to fit.
It was surprising how quickly a comfortable but snug resting place could turn into a horrifying coffin. It was embarrassing to still have nightmares as a 43-year-old but if pressed she'd admit that getting buried alive was one of them. In the underdark it was a valid concern, but she'd thought herself in the clear on the surface world. Who would have thought that harmless little flecks of snow could be so suffocatingly heavy.
Scrunched up in the saddle-bag what strength her body had was rendered useless. With her lungs pumping increasingly quickly she lacked the focus to cast any spells, though even if she could she had none that would get her out of this mess. She felt the pony shift, muscles stronger than her own carrying it up against the snow. Sadly its progress came to an abrupt stop as it reached the limit of its height, snow still firmly pressed against Drizzt's prison.
As her odd and often grim life flashed before her eyes she was startled to see the face of a hobbit.
"Don't worry there missus princess lady highness Arwen," stuttered Sam. "We'll have you and Bill out right quick. Us hobbits are good at digging."
Good, loyal, wonderful Sam. For all that she disliked hobbit feet and hobbit eating and was generally both jealous and disdainful of their ridiculously cushy and peaceful lives she was struck with a sudden urge to kiss him. Thankfully the couple hundred pounds of snow holding her bent double in the saddlebag kept her from acting on the impulse. Later that day she would ascribe the desire to lack of air beneath the snow. Still, she was in his debt. The hobbit was useless at a great many things, but he was good at burrowing, even when the snow turned his hands red.