Here we are, back on track! I hope that you enjoy this one, as ever, please forgive any typos.

EDIT: we would have been back on track if I had not been exhausted and forgotten to actually update the chapter, rather than just uploading it to docs , hahaha! Sorry about that.

Chapter Forty-Four: A Foxy Messenger

For a moment, Glóin wondered if it was simply the dark that was cloaking his vision, but when he squinted at the pony lying before him, he could make out the beast's eyes glinting in the faint light of the stars. His sight was strong as ever. He peered around the small cavern, but Lani was not there.

Sighing, Glóin propped himself up and stared straight at the pony. The pony stared back.

"Where did she go?" asked Glóin, gruffly. His voice felt a little raw, and he massaged his throat.

Odo just blinked.

Glóin tilted his head and listened intently. The wind was whispering through the caves and rocks of the mountainside, but it carried no other sound with it. No birds, no beasts, no people. No sound of rivers or rain, no sound of trees creaking or leaves rustling. There was nothing but the wind.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and Glóin shivered. He wanted to call to Lani, but the quiet was too dangerous to break. He could not afford to give his position away, if he was not alone. So instead, he turned his attention to his arm. It was throbbing.

Gingerly, he untied the bandage, and slowly unwound it. The change in pressure sent a spasm of pain straight up his arm, and he gritted his teeth. The wound was angry and red, and his blood had blackened where it dried, but somehow, miraculously, there was no sign of gangrene or infection.

"Thank you, Mahal, for the fortitude you gave us," he murmured, closing his eyes. "For the strength of our blood. Thank you."

Escaping infection was not uncommon among dwarves, particularly those who were strong and healthy, but Glóin's luck had been so bad for so long that he had half been expecting to see luminous green skin. He wished that he had something else to bind it with – he would even take a once-worn sock at this point – but his own socks smelt worse than his feet. So, back went the old bandage, and he tightened the knot with his teeth.

As he did so, there came a sound. A soft, familiar tapping – the sound of wolf claws against stone. He looked up, and put a hand on his axe. Glóin wondered if it was a strange wolf, or if Lani was running – her footsteps were faster than usual. Odo's head tossed back, but other than that, the pony did not move.

Then, Lani came around the corner, her limp more pronounced than ever. But her eyes were sparkling as though they held the light of a thousand stars, and her mouth hung open in what Glóin could have sworn was a smile. Behind her, trotted a small, red fox, with uncommonly large ears, and big, brown eyes.

Lani fumbled her way over to Glóin and collapsed at his side, panting. She laid her head in his lap again and rubbed it against his leg, looking very pleased with herself. He gave her rump a pat, and looked back at the fox.

"What's this?" he asked gruffly. "Friend of yours?"

It stopped before Glóin and sat down, its tail curling around it, and then it tilted its head to the side. Glóin had the odd feeling that he was being examined.

By a fox.

Lani whined softly, blinking up at him. Glóin thought of the stories that Bilbo would tell the younger children, tales of boys and girls with animal companions, folk who could befriend birds by singing and lived in harmony with the woods. Rather disgruntled, Glóin wondered if he should just put on a flower crown now.

Then the fox moved.

It arched its back, further and further until it was not just stretching, but growing, and doubling, tripling in size, and getting bigger –

Glóin grabbed for his axe as the creature's hair began to retreat into its skin, but Lani whined, and put her muzzle over his hand. Frozen, Glóin stared at the fox's shifting form, at the sickening ripple of its muscles and limbs that grew and twisted shape into something – someone completely different.

A woman.

A hobbit-sized, red-haired, utterly naked woman.

Swallowing, Glóin shut his open mouth and did everything that he could to look at her face. And only her face. Nothing but her face – but she kept twitching! She scratched at her big, pointed ears, and leant forward and back, and rocked on her heels and moved her entire torso as she looked around.

Glóin was not what one would call an overly sensitive dwarf, nor was he over-fond of courtly manners, but he had been raised to know the ins and the outs of etiquette, both dwarven and inter-racial. Here, however, he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

What on earth was the protocol for such a situation? What did manners mean when an animal transformed into a naked woman before you? And how the devil was he going to tell his wife about this?

Glóin cleared his throat. It took two attempts. "Hello. Who are you?"

"I am Inni." Her voice was rather high, but not unpleasantly so, and it lilted and jolted in a manner that reminded him of Beorn. "Who are you?"

"Glóin, son of Groin," he said slowly. His instinct was to look her up and down, to check for weapons, but that would be very indecent of him. Then again, he could hardly let propriety send him to an early grave. He glanced down, quickly, but saw no armaments, or indeed anywhere that she could stow them. Long, red hair hung from her head, but it was free and unbound, and was too sleek to hide anything bigger than a bread knife. His cheeks burning, Glóin looked back at her face. "What are you doing here?"

"I am kin of Beorn, and he sent me," she said, sniffing at the air. "I am a scout. Black things creep around our lands and we must watch them. I am to watch the mountains. Only black things dwell here now – I did not expect to meet friends. Lani says you are in trouble."

"Well, you could argue that," said Glóin, glaring at the wolf. Lani yawned in his face. She looked utterly unbothered that she had relayed their vulnerability to a total stranger. "You don't happen to have any medicine, herbal cleansers, or the like, do you?"

She laughed, a high, yap like sound, and gestured to her body. "Do you see any pockets, Dwarf Glóin?"

Glóin's face burnt, and he glanced down for a moment, before snapping his eyes closed. "No, no pockets."

Her voice took on a tone of concern. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine, fine, everything's fine!" he said, hastily.

"But you have closed your eyes?"

Glóin snorted. "Aye. You have no clothes on."

There was a pause. "And...?"

"Where I come from, it's impolite to stare at a naked woman."

"Really?" Inni sounded intrigued. "How strange! But stare all you like, Dwarf Glóin. I am not offended."

"My wife will be," said Glóin, though he opened his eyes. She was leaning towards him, though ever her body was moving. She seemed utterly incapable of staying still. Glóin kept his gaze fixed on her face, and she tilted her head again.

"Why will she?"

For a moment, Glóin could not speak. He had experienced culture clashes before, of course, and he thought there had been some big ones, like the time when Vinca accidentally proposed to a visiting Ironfist princess by giving her a bouquet of flowers, or when Dori nearly started a war with Lake-Town by insulting their fish. But never, ever, had he experienced anything quite like this. Why, even elves knew that free nudity around strangers was improper!

"Mahal save me," he muttered.

"Is Mahal your wife?"

"No, no! Never mind!" Glóin tugged at his beard. Then, he took a deep breath, and glanced at Lani. "What's your plan here?"

She looked at Inni, and then back to Glóin.

He shook his head. "You're going to have to be clearer, wolf."

Lani raised her head and huffed, then threw in an indignant growl for good measure. Then, she made several noises and twitched her nose, and Inni growled back. It was not a noise of anger, but of communication, and rather disconcerting to hear it coming from what seemed to be the face of a woman. Then, she nodded.

"Yes, yes. I thought so. I will take your message, Dwarf Glóin," she said easily. "I will take news to your home. You may continue over the mountains, find your kin, and your cub."

Glóin hesitated. This woman – she claimed to be kin of Beorn, yet all he had to corroborate this was the judgement of a fluffy, oversized dog. But he did not have much of a choice, and time was pressing. "Very well," he said, drawing a pencil and a sheet of paper from one of his pockets. Hastily, he jotted out the message in Khuzdul, encoding it as best he could. Then, he drew out his spare coin purse, emptied the coins into another pocket, and tucked his message inside. His fingers shook as he tied the strings to seal it shut. Then, he took a deep breath, and handed it to Inni.

She took a step toward him and stared at the purse, but did not take it. "Have you a, or some string?" she said. "I can hang such things from my neck, without losing them when I change. And the form of a fox is much safer than that of a woman in such times."

"Of course." Glóin felt around in his pockets, but all his rope and string had been in his bags. Glóin sighed, and reached into his hair. A ribbon was woven into one of his braids, a token from Dana, for the journey. He unwound the braid, and his fingers seemed to protest pulling the silk ribbon away, but he shook the foolishness from his head.

"Here," he said gruffly, and she took both the ribbon and the purse. With nimble fingers, she hung the message from her neck, the ribbon sitting red against her skin. An image of severed heads barged into Glóin's mind, and he hid a wince.

"Stay here," she said, unaffected. "I will return ere the hour ends. Wait for me."

Before Glóin could say another word, she shrank down into the form of a fox, the unnatural writhing and shrinking of her limbs upsetting Glóin's stomach. She shook her head, and the pouch around her neck swung a little. Then, she bounded off, disappearing quickly behind the rocks. Glóin's hand tightened around the hilt of his axe again.

"I don't like this," he muttered to Lani. "What if it's a trap?"

Lani whined indignantly, and Glóin looked away. He wished that there was someone he could really talk to, someone he knew and trusted – someone that could talk back. Being alone may have protected him, but it was beginning to drive him insane. He had no idea why or how Beorn managed it – although, that said, Beorn was hardly one that you would consider to be of perfectly sound mind.

He wished that Dana was here. After the hell of her journey to Erebor, after Gimli being kidnapped and lost, he had sworn to never leave her again, unless there were lives at stake. It had been upon her insistence that he added that term. And it had been Dana who had insisted that Glóin was the one to go to Rivendell. It was their duty, she said, and Glóin knew she spoke the truth. Their kin and lords and lady were out there, and their son was caught in the darkness. Yet Dana was not as skilled a warrior as Glóin, nor did she know as much about travel, or the paths that would need to be taken. And as a woman, should she travel alone she would stick out like a footless hobbit.

He was glad that she was safe, but he almost wished that she was here with him. That he could talk to her, that she could talk back, and tug at his earlobe for looking at a naked fox-lady, and laugh at his worrying about it in the first place, because really, what else could he have done?

Glóin sighed, and rested his head against the stone behind him. Dana was not here, nor should she be. There was no one to talk back to him. He let himself sink into his memories, and lingered in the very best of them. Playing with his brother, the faces of his childhood friends, meeting Dana for the first time…

He was just remembering Gimli's birth, and his little boy's first cry, when Lani's head lifted up. A few seconds later, the quiet tap of claws on stone, and then he saw a fox come around the corner, carrying a sack the same size as itself in its mouth. Inni had returned.

She dropped the sack, and morphed back into the form of a woman. This time, Glóin was almost able to hide his wince.

"Here," she said happily, opening the sack to reveal a hoard of roots and vegetables, and a bundle of fresh, green grass, lashed together with a bit of string. "There is little to eat in these mountains – the orcs scare the animals away, and there are no more trees. This is my cache, foods I brought up here and gathered myself. But I must go now, and take your message, and I cannot take them with me. They will rot ere I return. The Ever Grass is for Lani, from the garden of Beorn. It will chase away both pain and infection, but does not sit well on the stomachs of the two-legged. Alas, that I have no medicine for you, but as a fox I would need only Ever Grass. Farewell, dwarf Glóin. Take care."

She leant down and tapped him once on the forehead, before turning back into a fox, nuzzling Lani's face, and running away before the dwarf could say so much as a word. Stunned, he looked from Lani to Odo, to the food. Lani snuffled at the grass, and immediately took it in her mouth and began to munch away.

"You look like a sheep," he said.

She ignored him.

Glóin looked back at the bag, and tossed a carrot at Odo. The pony chomped down eagerly, and a smile twitched at Glóin's cheek.

"Well," he said gruffly, picking up a potato the size of his forearm. "Perhaps having animal companions can be a good thing after all…"

I hope that you enjoyed that little chapter, I know it's just a wee one! When I am working weekends, Monday chapters will probably be shorter due to necessity, but they will always be ones that I feel stand on their own two feet :) Please do let me know what you think, and I hope you have an awesome evening/day :D Thanks for reading!