Chapter Two
What They Were Doing When It DID Happen
The ground beneath Gollum's feet lurched unexpectedly, which was a seriously bad thing since he was, at the moment, scaling down a sheer cliff toward two sleeping hobbits, whispering to himself all the while.
With a bloodcurdling cry, he landed on Frodo and Sam, scrabbling about like a lightheaded dog/spider.
"Whoa! What's that!" shouted Sam, coming awake slowly, trying to get hold of his senses. The ground shook again. This time it didn't stop.
"Sam, what's happening?" asked Frodo. "You're waking me up early today; it's dark still."
"It's not me, Mr. Frodo. The ground's a'shaking, and that little rascal was trying to sneak up on us. Good thing ol' Samwise Gamgee was keeping a sharp eye out."
"My precious!" screamed Gollum, lurching for Frodo, his fingers curved claw-like to throttle the hobbit.
All three vanished in a flash of pure white light.
As Innovindil was about to drop the last garment, a flash of pure white light consumed her. Drizzt wailed in dismay just before he was sucked into the vortex also.
"Please," whimpered Pippin. "Not again."
"We'll do anything," added Merry. "Just not that. Please, sir, if there's a kind bone in your body…"
"There's not!" shouted Uglúk. (Author clarification: If you don't remember, Uglúk was the chief of the Isengard uruk-hai at the beginning of The Two Towers) "Now, see here. We saved you from that big, nasty warrior a few days ago…"
"Boromir was our friend!" cried Pippin.
"…And we've kindly carried you all this way to Fangorn Forest…"
"Dragged us more like," muttered Merry.
"…And I'm tired! The least you nice little halflings can do is give a poor old orc a good back massage."
"Nooooo!" wailed the frightened hobbits together.
Uglúk lay down on his stomach, his gnarled, bare back facing the stars. "Begin or I start cutting slivers off those oversized feet of yours and roast them on a spit," he snarled.
The hobbits, tears streaming down their faces, reached tremulously for the orc.
All three vanished in a flash of pure white light.
Roran was snoring uproariously, but it was nothing compared to Saphira. Eragon couldn't sleep, literally. Ever since his transformation into an elflike creature, the most he could do was enter a sort of reverie, which was kind of like meditation on steroids.
It might have sounded cool, but in this heightened sense of awareness, Eragon could sense all movement and all noise. So far, he had been jolted into wakefulness by two sparrows, six deer, a small family of groundhogs, and, of all things, a partridge in a pear tree.
The partridge was particularly annoying. It had disturbed Eragon no less than eighteen times in the last hour. Eragon, gifted with his understanding of animals, blushed at the names the bird was calling him. Apparently, Eragon had chosen to chop down the partridge's other pear tree to use to light the campfire. The partridge had not taken to that, and was now using the foulest language to describe Eragon's character, his parents' character, his parents' unique choice of mating rituals, and the ancestry from which said rituals might have originated.
Finally, Eragon snapped. His palm began to shine with a silver light, and he pointed at the partridge, a word of death forming on his lips.
They all vanished in a flash of pure white light.