Fili was glad to walk the path that he had found, no matter who had laid it. It was obviously a well-worn track. The snow was packed down as if an army of dwarves had marched over it, though the path was narrow. On his left and right, the walls of untrodden snow rose nearly four feet high, which to him was as good as shoulder-height and blocked the worst of the wind that blew against him. He was glad to be hidden from any eyes that might have tracked his progress over the open plain and still felt the lingering malignancy of whatever spirits had oppressed him at the beginning of his walk, but they were far away now, watching at a distance.

From where he had met the trail, it took less time than he would have thought to reach the trees. Looking back, it should not have taken more than an hour to pass from hill to wood, but the sun told him that it had been several. The sun was nearing its peak in the sky. He knew that it must be some curse of the land that had dragged his feet and sped the day along her journey. It was cold, and Fili felt the cold down to his bones, but it was no longer the sharp and bitter, cutting cold that he had felt laying out upon the plain, weighted down by despair.

Whatever it was that had caused him to doubt himself, he had defeated that evil and now his heart was strong and his mind quiet. He looked forward and faced the next trial of his journey. Hunger was quickly sapping his strength, and he had yet to find food for himself and his companions.

The plain was the bottom of a bowl of mountains, and the wood was spread thinly over a few miles of low hills that led up to the northern ridges. The bare boles were scattered with empty, leafless branches and, farther back, Fili's guess was confirmed: there were evergreen branches rising up toward the mountains, more brown than green, but still clinging to life.

He stepped between the first row of trees and, like the answer to a prayer he had yet spoken, many tracks of small animals were there to greet him. He saw first the little prints of squirrels where they leaped down from one tree and crossed quickly over the open snow to leap into another. As he went farther in, those tracks were crossed by the larger, four-print trail of a rabbit that bounded over hill and dale and burrowed into deep holes in the snow. Under the drifts there must be still soft earth, and in the warm months there would be life and brush that grew for them to nip at. They had not yet holed up for their winter sleep, and that was lucky for Fili.

As he grew used to reading the signs that were almost invisible against the white ground, he began to see also many little holes in the snow, especially where there were fallen branches or dead twigs of underbrush. Apart from the squirrels and rabbits, there were many different small fry there, mice and rats and other rodents the tracks of which he did not easily recognize.

Not that he needed to recognize them. They were meat, and that was all that he cared about. It was lucky that no recent snow had covered over the tracks, but they were not very old and every paw print promised food for his brother and for Betta.

As he walked farther into the trees, Fili came across a fallen tree piled high with broken branches. There were many busy tracks there of different animals. He found the most often used paths and laid out Betta's mesh nets between the branches where the small fry might creep across their threshold, then he moved quickly away to hunt in other parts of the wood so he would not spook his prey.

He left snares as he walked along: a tied stick here, a loop of twine there. Gloin had taught him a little of traps and trip wires on their journey into northern Eriador many years ago – and some of it Fili even remembered. He had little hope that he would catch much from the make-shift snares, but the day was passing quickly by and he did not have the time to wait for the better traps to do their work. His only hope was that the animals here would be unused to being hunted by two-legged predators; there was a good chance that they would not recognize the obvious traps that a southern prey animal would avoid.

He had little chance of finding anything in his snares, but he could not crush the hope that lived on in his heart that he would meet some larger game that would make a proper hunt. His fingers itched to throw his knife into the neck of a deer, or to swing his axe and hew down even a bear that would feed his company for days. Life flowed into his numb legs again as he thought of sprinting after one of the horned elk that they had spied wandering through the lower valleys along the side of the road.

He walked even deeper into the woods until he was surrounded by evergreens and the blanket of snow had its own thin coverlet of fallen, brown needles. The sun warmed the back of his neck as he bent his head to follow the tracks on the ground, his mind intent on its task.

Kili would gladly have boasted to Betta of his brother's skill at tracking, but dwarves were made to read rock and stone, or to track the beauty hidden in raw gold and uncut gems. The ability to read the soft earth or the broken branches of a tree was a useful skill but not one that was held in much esteem among his kind. Kili would brag, and he would argue with Fili over which of them was the best tracker, but even he did not understand how much Fili could see in a single paw print or the bend of a blade of green grass. Not even Kili could understand how proud Fili was in his heart when he saw at a glance the whole tale of life and death written upon the muddy ground where prey met predator. The other dwarves smile indulgently at the young prince's strange hobby but whispered behind their hands that he would grow out of it.

He sighed and leaned back against the bole of a tree. He looked up into the pale, blue sky and tried to forget his cold fingers. Fili knew as well as any dwarf that he was meant to be content underground, happy under rock and stone and living with no sight of sun or moon for days and weeks on end. There were dwarves in the older settlements who had not breathed the free air in years.

He should be content, and he could be content, if he knew that it was his duty. But so much of his life had been ruled by what he should do, what he was meant to be, and what his uncle declared that he would one day become, a King. Fili had had little chance to consider what it was that he wanted to do with himself. He did not want to spend his whole life out in the open, a wandering merchant like Oin and Gloin and so many other outcasts from Erebor, but he could not be expected to bury his heart under stone and still be happy.

Looking down again, Fili saw a track well-used by rabbits leading down to a low line in the snow that undoubtedly marked a stream. Where there was water, there would be game to hunt, and even in winter when the springs were frozen, still the animals followed their old habits. He knew this without thinking, just as he knew where to strike his pick to find a fracture that would split a stone where he wanted it to split.

Betta had some skill at tracking, he remembered. She must if she had survived on her own abilities in the wild. He had heard her talk as she described to Kili how to lay the nets, and he smiled. Betta would have admire his skill at tracking, while Kili admired only the meat that he would bring home to them.

A cold breeze brought Fili back to reality, and he looked around at the empty, blank slate that was the land where he stood. He shivered and thought how much safer he would have felt to have a mountain under his feet or a stone cliff at his back. He was glad of the open sky, however, and the clear sun that shone down upon him. What would Kili say to see him standing there, lost in a dream while hunger grumbled in his belly?

Fili drew his smallest knife and followed the well-trod trail of the rabbits; within the hour, he had two cotton-tailed hares dangling from his belt. They were thin and more of fur than of meat, but they might make a stew that would blunt their hunger for one more day.

.

Three hours passed and the afternoon was failing. He had added to the twin rabbits three plump squirrels and a sort of mole-rat looking creature. All were tied in a bundle and slung over his shoulder. His hunger had become all his thought and his mouth watered as he felt the weight of the meat that he carried. He would need more strength than he had to bring the burden over the plain again, and he meant to build a fire and eat a few bites before setting out. It felt wrong to do it, but his reason told him that he would be forgiven.

He had had no sight or sound of any living thing larger than a rabbit, but as afternoon drew on toward evening, a sensation had been growing at the back of his neck that there was something else here that he had not yet seen. As he hunted, he had found several other trails like the one that he had followed across the plain, wide and deep set, but not so deep as that one had been. There were yet no actual prints upon the snow, only the wind swept waves and the certainty that something large had paved the road.

As he turned his back to return to the hill, Fili found yet another similar trail, but this time it passed deep within the evergreen portion of the woods, and he frowned to look upon it. The trees were grown close and their branches passed high over the trail. He could see that many of these had been bent and some broken. In one place, a small tree that had been in the way of whatever made the path had been uprooted and tossed aside.

He looked at the broken branches. One, at least twice as thick as his arm, had been broken clean off and dropped several yards away. He felt small and weak against whatever was strong enough to cause such damage, but curiosity got the better of him. The trail led up and over a nearby hill, and Fili followed it. He kept his eyes wide open and his ears strained for any sound of danger. Each step he took, the snow creaked underfoot, and he winced, following the track at a distance, always ready with his axe in his hand.

He crested the hill and looked down. In the midst of the evergreen trees was a small, open glade, and in that glade was a sight that made his heart stop in his chest and his empty stomach churn.

The path fled down the hill, whatever made it had rolled like an avalanche into the glade where the snow was churned up as if by a great war. The snow was splashed pink where it had been stained with hot blood now frozen, and there were many broken and fallen branches. There was no sound, no movement; no squirrel stirred in the branches of the tree, no mouse scampered swiftly between the low, dead bushes.

Moving silently and with care, Fili made his way down the hill and set his feet upon the battle ground. He walked swiftly around the outer rim of the glade, reading what signs he could find.

A herd of split-hooved animals had come down from the north to strip the tender bark from the trunks of the trees, and to munch on the pine needles of the evergreens. While they were quietly grazing, something, some large thing, had come out of the east, leaving the trail that Fili had followed. It had burst in upon them, for the tracks of the herd broke suddenly as the animals scattered, running in all directions, often stumbling and falling in their fear. Many had been caught and killed, six at least, if he guessed right from the deeper marks and bright pools of blood.

It must have been a very large creature to have attacked the herd, Fili thought. What else could have caught and killed so many in one place? His fear grew as he read more and more of the slaughter. What could kill beast after beast, never stopping, never slowing, casting the carcasses together and carrying them off?

He had nearly come round the whole of the glade when he found another site of death. This time, there was some trace of the kill itself. The leg of an animal, elk-like in its form and hoof, lay tossed to one side, torn from its haunch. The hair was long and curly, matted with frozen blood. Fili prodded the leg with his knife and found it not completely frozen through; the slaughter could not have happened more than a day ago. He guessed that it had been during the early hours of that very morning before the sun had risen that this animal met its death.

Once more, Fili looked around the glade. He saw before his eyes a vision of the herd, peacefully roaming under the moonlight, eating, lowing quietly in their own way until suddenly startled by an explosion of violence, a terrible beast had stalked through their ranks, tearing them limb from limb with great, strong arms. What had caught them? What had killed them?

Fili shuddered and looked south toward the hill where his companions were camped and awaiting his return.

His first instinct was to run back to them, ignoring all else, but that was madness. He could hardly cross that plain again, starved as he was and without food for them. The herd had been killed hours ago, but their campsite had not been attacked. Whatever danger lay out on the plain was not near them, and Fili had not crossed it on his way to the wood. Probably, the beast lived in the distant mountains and would not go near the stone at all.

His mind only slightly eased, Fili took up the torn haunch of the elk and hefted it over his shoulder. He hurried away from the bloody scene, giving wide berth to the deep-set trail. He found again the fallen tree where he had laid out Betta's snares. The nets themselves were empty, but he saw the tree with new eyes. It had not fallen. It had been torn up at the root and cast aside. The damage wasn't recent, at least one summer had passed to regrow some of the branches that had broken under it; so, the danger was one that had long dwelt in this land.

The mystery deepened, but Fili had no patience to puzzle it out. He was growing dizzy with hunger and the fearful pounding of his heart. He was weak and near the breaking point. Finding a sheltered corner, he built a small fire and cooked a few thin slices that he chipped away from the frozen haunch. The cold had kept the meat from spoiling, but though the few bites blunted his hunger they did not satisfy. He could not stay to eat his fill. He buried the fire, packed up his bounty, and began the too-long trek back to camp.

The day had passed swiftly and as he returned to the plain, he once more risked the dangerous road in favor of speed. The sun was falling toward the western horizon, and if he met with no more ghosts or foul creatures, Fili hoped to be climbing the ridge to their campsite before night fell. He wished to be back beneath the black stone before the day was done; something told him that the hours of his watch would not pass peacefully tonight.

I couldn't think what else to call lots of little rodents. 'Small fry' is my meager homage to Kafka ;-)

Hope you like. Hope you review :D

-Paint