Chapter 7: Animal Instinct


Bilbo had run for what felt like ages. His chest was heaving and his limbs were trembling, that was how much he had pushed himself. His pace turned to a normal run, then to a fast trot, then he slowly stumbled to a halt. Very carefully he let his jaw drop the bag to the ground and then allowed himself to settle down beside it, his sides still moving rapidly up and down. He had run far. There was no sign of a battlefield any more. In the far distance he could still see Mirkwood, the trees a sea of green on the horizon. He could also see what he would guess could be the peak of the Lonely Mountain – now Erebor once more. Turning over he let his eyes roam over the area, his legs a tangle on the ground. In the other direction, where he had been headed, he could see some more mountain rages, looking like claws reaching for the sky from the distance. Reluctantly and more because he was curious, he tried to scent the air, but the scents he picked up didn't make much sense to him. Oh, he could recognize the frozen quality for the time of the year – Fatten up. Search for prey. Hunt. Rip. Eat.– and the smell of earth before it was frozen solid. But the other scents made little to no sense to him.

A low whine crept out of his dry throat as he languidly gathered his legs beneath him again to stand up. Once standing he moved in a slow circle, trying to guess just where he had inadvertently run off to. If he had to guess, he would say he had mostly moved further east and maybe a little to the south? Bilbo whacked his brain for a map of middle earth. He knew where the settlements, the big ones were supposed to be, but he had long learned that distance on a map looked a lot less intimidating then when you tried to reach a goal before nightfall by foot – paws.

… Whatever.

Bilbo sat down on his hind legs, trying not to think too much about how he had no arms with opposable thumbs any more. Miserably he looked down, experimentally digging his claws into the ground. They sunk into the earth like a hot knife cut through butter. Bilbo shuddered.

At least he was slowly calming down, his heart-rate was returning to normal now that he found he was in relative safety.

Too open. Vulnerable. Not safe. Need den.

Without even realizing it Bilbo had started to move, picking up his bag before freezing in his tracks, unsettled by the urge to seek shelter. This time the let the bag go without concerning himself what he could damage or loose. He was not. An. Animal.

He would not act like it. He would not! He couldn't loose himself to those- those...! Instincts!

Another shudder went through his body, his hackles raising at the image of himself. He was a warg! He was an animal, to anyone who saw him. They would... they would hunt him and kill him and say good riddance.

He hated it. He hated what he had become and-

-and Bilbo howled, dropping to the floor and curling up as his skin prickled and bones began to shift anew. It hurt more this time, for whatever reason, than shifting from his hobbit body into the warg body. It was over within minutes, but it left the hobbit gasping and shivering on the ground in all his naked glory. Only know did he realize just how cold – freezing really – it had become. Cold enough that even his sturdy hobbit feet curled their toes trying to preserve what little warmth he had. It took him longer than it should to sort out his limps again, his run had already acclimated him to having four legs and it was confusing to have to reorient himself.

Whimpering he crawled over to his bag and rummaged through it for his spare set of clothes and quickly pulled on a pair of trousers and a shirt. It was not much, not much at all, but his coat had been left behind in the camp. Just like his sleeping gear and his rain-cover. And Sting. Quaking Bilbo looked through the meagre contents of his bag. A little bit of food, some flint, a pen and some paper he had been able to forage, a dagger and a handkerchief. And wasn't that irony a punch to the gut, since now he knew there were much more important things to have with you when you were stuck alone in the cold wilderness.

Bilbo closed his eyes as helplessness welled up in him, trying to fight tears of frustration. He ground his teeth together and picked himself up. He needed to find shelter, or he would soon freeze to death. If night broke out before he could find something... well, Bilbo was well aware that he would be lucky to see the next sunrise then.


Notes:


Thought it was time for some Bilbo POV again ;D well... now he is out and about again, mostly without preparation. Sounds familiar, huh? Only difference: He's alone now.

Wonder how long though :)