I tried to will myself to sleep, desperately attempting to soothe the heavy sensations seeping into my skin despite all my best efforts to dismiss them. I adjusted a little, groaning about the flat patch of ground and how it provided so very little comfort. My back ached terribly from long hours of sitting on the pony, ramrod straight and tense for far too long before I was teased about my bad form and how it would hurt by that night.

Oh, how it did hurt so very much. Every breath in my body hurt my back and thighs and all I wanted was sleep just to ease it, if only for a little bit.

Not that physical discomfort was the only thing bothering me; in all the time we traveled, I hadn't spoken a single word. I was silent during the long hours riding on a pony through lands still inhabited by tall folk. They gave way to lands where people spoke strangely and sang songs that I couldn't understand. Still not a word.

The Company stopped only for meals, eating as often as the tall folk would consider normal but no where near as many times as a hobbit would eat. Having not eaten breakfast, my belly grumbled its displeasure and the company teased me still until we set off again.

Through slopes of rock and dreary hill, we finally came to the open wilds that as a hobbit I had never known before; the trees were gloomy, twisting upwards as if they were broken and snarled. No leaves grew on them and I found myself looking to Gandalf for reassurance.

For a company made up of dwarves who were used to travelling out in the wilds, the first day was the easiest for them. They laughed and joked with one another as if they were all a family and seemed content to ignore me except for when we stopped for meals. Dori, Ori, and Nori were the first to really try and befriend me, all of us sharing a great love of meal times as often as possible but even then, we did not converse much.

The irony was not lost on me when my would-be murderer became my best friend, nipping playfully at me once Dwalin and Kili removed some of her load to allow her a lighter ride. Myrtle was her name, I was told, and she was quite the cheeky thing if one allowed her to be. She stole food from bags when dwarves were turned and decided to knock over the stray dwarf who would manage to catch her in the act.

Despite having made a friend in my pony, I was relieved when we stopped for camp the first night. I was tired and lonely in a way I was so unused to being surrounded by so many. Of course that really did nothing after the food was done and settled in my belly and everyone grouped off to talk about whatever they did and I was left to my own devices. I sat around Gandalf, smoking my pipe and blowing rings with him in the air around our heads, chuckling when he made amazing shapes.

Sounds from the hills were all around us, echoing off boulders and wood alike; they screeched in my ears, pressed on limbs, curled my fingers and made my teeth ache. On one occasion, my tongue felt almost like something was pulling at it.

The wilds were full of strange things that made all manner of strange sounds and Gandalf did his best to tell me what each sensation belonged to. I would hear something, look at him and describe it and he would reply with whatever it was. Apparently even a gentle animal like a squirrel was responsible for making one's teeth cringe in an unpleasant manner. We spoke low, whispering of these things to one another, almost as if it were a great secret even though it was not.

Snoring was not a sensation I could get used to no matter how long or how loud it was heard. Oh, it had been identified hours ago, no thanks to Gloin, but just the weight of it was uncomfortable, no matter the tone. It settled on my chest like someone was pushing down and as it continued long into the night, I fretted and turned and just could not sleep.

I was tired of even attempting to sleep.

I got up from the bedroll Dwalin had given to me earlier when we first stopped for lunch and stretched, popping my back and groaning when the ache only lessened slightly. It was still relatively early in terms of night fall but the journey claimed a good chunk of the group for sleep. Fili and Kili sat close to the fire, packing their pipes and smoking, enjoying the brisk air while they were also warmed by the flame. Thorin sat off to the side, back against the rock with his eyes closed.

Thorin was an altogether different mess of a matter when it came to this journey.

Memories of the night before flashed in mind and I blushed at the effect his voice still had on me even just in recollection.

I grabbed an apple from my bag for Myrtle, sighing even as I tried to wrap my thoughts around our most esteemed but stoic leader. Why did he have a voice like that and why did it seem to change so much? A trace of fingers that lingered one moment and then the next like a pat on the back. Tone for each voice always affected a sensation and how it acted but his warped so acutely from so small a change.

"Hey Myrtle," I smiled at the pony, threading my fingers in her mane and scratching deeply, "I've got a present for you. It'll be our little secret, okay?" I offered up the apple to her, happy when she quickly chewed it to make easy work of it.

A loud screeching sound interrupted my stolen moment with Myrtle, echoing in the night from seemingly everywhere and I winced; sharp like a knife it struck across my right palm and I dropped the apple in momentary pain. I looked around in a fright, wondering what could make such a horrid sound, "What was that?"

I scampered back towards the fire of the camp, hoping that Kili or Fili could answer my question, hoping that they knew enough about the calls of the wild to know exactly what could produce such an awful sound.

Kili looked at me with his pipe still in hand, no longer attempting to pack in some pipeweed; his dark eyes were serious as they found mine, a frown on his face. He looked worried and cautious, "Orcs."

My eyes widened in shock at the severity of his answer but something felt off about it. His voice curled at my rear teasingly, "Orcs!?"

In my fright, I squeaked a little too loudly in the near calm of the night, noticing with a wince that Thorin sat up from his place against the wall. He looked alert and ready for whatever might come and it filled me with the fear that maybe something really was going to be wrong.

"Throat-cutters. They'll be dozens of them out there." Fili started to explain, "The Lone-lands will be crawling with them." There was that strange wisp of vocal sensation again this time in Fili's voice; there was something about his tone that was just as Kili's had been. As he spoke, the voice curled lightly. It made the possibility of the sound being an orc just seem less likely.

"They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep quick and quiet," Yet their words sounded so serious; I was torn between wanting to trust their words but just as I felt compelled to let the fear well back up, their voices teased at me so playfully that I couldn't focus enough to, " No screams. Just lots of blood."

Such a serious answer shouldn't have teased so playfully, cupping and hinting suggestively of what could follow...

"You think that's funny?" Thorin's deep voice cut across the night, twisting up my arm in a firming hold that left me still and unable to move. It felt cutting and reminded me so much of the times when I misbehaved as a little girl and my Mom dragged me back by the arm to Bag End for proper punishment. "You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?"

I looked at Fili and Kili again and saw that the looks on their faces were one of chastised children, their eyes lowered and a shame behind their eyes. I knew at once from both their faces and Thorin's tone that they had been teasing me, pulling me along just because I was the naïve hobbit when it came to the wild.

I swallowed down a sense of shame for being so easily tricked and looked away from the towering figure of Thorin as he walked away from the group, a reprimand on his tongue to answer whatever Kili said to him.

"Don't mind him laddie; Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs..."

Balin's soothing voice cupped along my cheek in a way that made the feeling of shame ebb, gentle and kind the way a parent's would be. He began to vocalize to the brothers and I of the story of Moria and how King Thror had once tried to reclaim it so many years past.

I sat down near the edge of the campfire and listened to Balin as he recounted of the legions of orcs that ravaged their ancient halls, that slew hundreds of their fellow dwarf in the course of the war.

As I listened, I imagined a King I did not know fighting to reclaim a home and being beheaded by a most vile creature. Of that same creature swearing to wipe out a line that Thorin belonged to. A father gone missing and Thorin, all alone fighting for his life against one who had taken so much. I felt I could understand the power of Thorin's voice and how it commanded; why it changed as it pleased. Balin saw that day that Thorin was a Prince he could follow and call King.

I felt I understood that sentiment, having recalled the power behind Thorin's voice all too clearly the night before as the company sang. My Ear Touch had known what he was before it was said, a King to command all his kind.

Despite all of that, I found myself wondering what happened to the pale orc who seemed so intent to destroy the line of Durin?