The chaos of battle erupted throughout the valley, eagle and orc screams clashing together like the steel of blades. Battle cries tore through the valley while swords swung down heavily upon enemies. The battle raged on.

The young dwarven woman looked misplaced, as if she didn't belong, but her armor and battle axes dictated differently. She spun elegantly, knocking into her enemies with a blunt force that rattled through their core, shattering bones and muscle alike. She cleared her way through the field of battle, knocking into the skulls of orcs and goblins as she went. Her body was spent and she knew not how much longer she could keep up her strength in order to heave the axes. The sounds of battle raged on, and then slowly, almost painfully, silence fell.

The darkness closed in around her, leaving her alone. She turned her head, her mind fuzzy, vision swimming with the vestiges of warriors in battle. The scenes of battle continued to fall away and time seemed to slow down while her senses began to dull. Was this what it felt like? Was this how it felt to die?

She didn't realize it until then, but she was crying. The tears rolled down her face freely, staining her dust covered skin, weaving through her pores like a river through rolling hills. No, she was not dying, but she felt the loss deep within her, ripping away at what little remained of her resolve. The emptiness, it consumed her until she was left with nothing; Much like the darkness surrounding her now. This was the feeling of loss. She knew from the ache in her mind, the pain in her breast. They were gone. Everyone she had ever truly cared for. They were gone.

Gone…

Ilona shot up from her bedroll in a cold sweat. The nightmare had not been frightening, but it had been disconcerting. It was also not foreign to her. She had had this recurring nightmare for many moons now, but had yet to derive its meaning. She had been to the sages of Belegost and had visited several nomad tribes that had traveled past the dwarven colonies, consulting with any spiritual expert she managed to cross paths with. None could help her. So she spent her nights in a cold sweat and racing thoughts.

Night had fallen over Middle Earth, leaving a comforting silence over the landscape. Ilona looked to the sky, mapping out the stars and few constellations she had learned. She listened closely as the sounds of the night came alive. The occasional owl hoot broke through the restful evening along with the skittering of creatures beneath the underbrush and the few ominous noises that came from far off in the lowlands. The young maiden rose and put away her bedroll, strapping it to her traveling pack. She reassessed the area they had made camp in, glancing over at the remains of the small fire they had struck in order to eat much earlier that day. She glanced around at her seven guards and watched as they all continued to sleep soundly, save for one. A red headed dwarf sat near the outskirts of the camp site, keeping watch for anything that may have tried to take the company by surprise. She finished fastening the clasps on her pack and shouldered it before walking over to her fiery-haired companion. The red-haired dwarf shifted slightly at his post, but otherwise took no notice of the approaching she-dwarf. As Ilona came to his side, the young dwarrow began prodding him with her foot.

"Felrin, we must go. Night has fallen."

The words seemed to rouse something urgent in the burly dwarf, for he rose and quickly packed up his things. His green eyes shone under the now heavy moonlight, glinting like emeralds in the dark. His face was tired, his many years standing in stark contrast to young dwarrow His skin painted with the signs of age, and his brow furrowed with thick wrinkles as he quickly fastened a grey cloak around his shoulders and stood, pack in hand. As he stood, a particularly long scar along the left side of his jaw could be seen. Even under the guise of night, his wide frame was intimidating.

"I don't suppose it would do much good to say how much I disapprove of your decision M'lady," his face was scored with both age and battle wear, "These lands are not safe at night."

Ilona put her hand up to silence him, locking eyes with the old dwarf as she did so. She had heard it all before and she had already set her resolve to finish this trip by daybreak. Felrin took his cue and woke the rest of the traveling party, six more dwarves who all did as they were instructed and packed up their supplies and loaded up their horses. As Ilona strapped the last of her supplies into one of her saddle bags, she looked back up into the sky, the thoughts of her dream returning as she heard the far off orc screams.

As the company took up their journey just west of Bree, the small dwarven company kept their eyes to the nearby tree lines and underbrush. The small-bred horses, often referred to as ponies, seemed on especially high alert, as they traversed by the light of one lantern, strapped to the side of the pony ridden by the leader of the troupe. All the rider's hoods were drawn about their faces, though every member was on high alert. Night was not the safest time to travel.

"M' lady, I must ask that you see reason," Felrin spoke up, though he was careful to not speak above a whisper. He had ridden his dark bay colored pony up to the side of Ilona's silver dapple dun mare, "We shall reach The Shire by early morn, even if we should stop for the remainder of the evening," he finished, watching his leader carefully.

Ilona, pulled down the hood of her turquoise cloak to address the company. Her long, dark hair was pulled into an ornate traveling braid and her bronze complexion shone in the brief glimpses of moonlight. She stood out amongst the dwarven party and as a dwarrow, she was a rarity if there ever was any. She turned her silver maned mare and ceased her movement, causing the entire company to stop and watch her. The way she held herself even demanded respect, though there was still a touch of softness about her. But the hardened, resolved stare she placed upon the company was enough to silence all further arguments, and even Felrin was astonished by how strongly she was able to assert herself as a leader, even with no words at all. This was an attribute he mainly attributed to her father, who he could see in all of her mannerisms as she continued with her command. She locked eyes with the older dwarf and raised her eyebrows in a resolution, turn her pony again to continue on her way forward. Felrin could do nothing but shake his head, both amused and terrified.

"As you wish, Lady Ilona."

The company traveled forth in silence, not daring to again question her authority and the young dwarrow smiled to herself. It was a rarity; there was no denying otherwise, for dwarves to listen to anyone, especially females. Rare as they were, they were not fragile creatures. But it went against every known dwarven convention for them to lead. Yet, Ilona held her own against many of her own people, having to prove her abilities on more than one occasion. Granted, she had been bested a fair amount, but her refusal to back down from any challenge, regardless of how futile it seemed, was what made her stand out even more as a dwarrow. A quality she could probably attribute to her dwarven stubbornness, but also to her family and upbringing.

As time continued to pass, the darkness of the night seemed to grow ever thicker, bringing with it an stifling air of unease. For every step forward the company took, it seemed the forest grew ever darker and more terrifying. The ominous cries that once sounded so far away in the lowlands seemed so very close now. The riders tried not to let it show how fearful they were, especially their leader, Ilona, though she had doused the lantern that once lit their path, opting for the safety of complete darkness rather than a beacon to determine their location. The skittering of tiny creatures amongst the underbrush had ceased, and had since turned into what sounded like quieted footsteps. The twigs cracked underneath each stride of the ponies from the pressure, yet every so often, a sound off path could be heard and it was enough to unverve the young dwarven women into slowly reaching for the bow on her shoulder and quietly notching an arrow while looking even deeper into the darkness. She slowed her breathing, but could not silence the thumping of her heart in her ears and for a moment, she thought she would pass out from the overwhelming sound of her own blood as it rushed through her head. Then in the next moment…

It stopped.

It was then that the beasts burst from the surrounding forest, overtaking the party with ease. With no time to arm themselves, minus the few that had taken cue from their huntress leader as she notched her bow, the orcs took down half the party in their initial strike, leaving the remaining four to defend themselves sparsely. One of the four was bested by a warg and its rider not long after, leaving the three dwarves on horseback vigilant and with weapons drawn. The young dwarven woman began releasing numerous arrows, killing two wargs and their riders while her two male companions fell a couple of scouts. Ilona reached again for her quiver of arrows, only to find it empty. That was when she heard it. The especially angry language of the orcs, being shouted into the night. But was not the language itself that made her weary, but rather the words themselves.

"She's the child taken in by Durin! She is the master's prize."

An especially large warg jumped from the tree line and grabbed the troupe leader in its jaws before landing roughly on the ground below. Having the wind forced from her lungs, Ilona lost her grip on her bow and stared wide eyed into the eyes of the creature above her. The warg snarled and bared its hideous teeth, and the woman could smell the decaying flesh embedded in its gnashing jaws. She suppressed the bile rising in her throat and stared her enemy in the eyes while simultaneously reaching for her sword, which had slid from her side to just out of reach.

"The Dwarf scum will come to us willingly, knowing we have you."

The warg lunged forward and young woman prepared her body for the oncoming pain. So this was how it ended. Bested by a warg and its jaws. She would be ripped to shreds. She'd never see her family again. Never hear her father's voice or the laughs of her closest friends. That deepening feeling of loss from her dream began to form in her stomach and she thought for a moment that she would vomit.

She expected the pain to be excruciating, but none came. Instead, she heard the loud yelp of the warg as the sound of metal raking across flesh reached her ears. She opened her eyes that she had clenched shut and saw her red headed traveling companion standing before her, bloody sword in a guarded position and an angry warg before him. He turned so she could barely make out his profile in the moonlight. She could see the sheen of what she could only assume to be blood on his face.

"Go m'lady!" He yelled in a straightforward tone, fear and courage etched upon his features, bringing out the aging lines in his face, "We shall fend them off. Go Ilona!"

She wasted no time. The dwarrow rushed to her feet and grabbed her bow and sword from where it had fallen when she was attacked. She searched out her horse, which happened to be trying to ward off a warg and its rider, albeit quite unsuccessfully. The She-dwarf grabbed the reins of the silver maned horse and quickly mounted the saddle before bolting through the forest, leaving the remaining members of her company behind. She dared not turn for fear of watching as her guards and dear friends were slain at the hands of an orc and its blade. She never slowed, riding well into the early morning and she stopped only when the horizon lit up with the fate tinge of dawn. The orc screams and the clash of blades had faded long ago, leaving the surrounding area terrifyingly silent.

It was then that she felt it. The pain; the blinding, searing pain in her abdomen that reached well up to her ribs. It was excruciating, and the she-dwarf wondered how she had ridden so long without taking any notice of it. The young dwarven rider dismounted her pony, much to the disagreement of her wounds, and came to rest at the bank of a stream. After taking the time to splash some of the cooling water onto her face to wake her body, she sat and collected her thoughts. The events of the evening had taken its toll on the young woman and she was just now feeling the effects of the orc's attack. She could feel the large lacerations under her tunic, probably caused when she'd been dismounted by the warg and its jaws. The wetness she felt running down her side could only be blood. She was surprised she'd not passed out from shock or blood loss. Ilona quickly removed her outer weapons: her sword, made from precious dwarven metal and given as a traveling gift; and knapsack filled with miscellaneous weapons of choice, such as throwing knives; and her bow, a gift from her father that was covered in ancient dwarven runes. After doing so, she removed some of her outer clothing, leaving her only in her sage green tunic and her breeches. Carefully raising the tunic to the edge of her chest bindings, hissing as the cloth pulled from the gnarled skin, Ilona assessed the damage. The lacerations were angry and inflamed, which could only mean she was fighting an impending infection, no doubt. The smell of rotting flesh was still fresh in Ilona's mind and she finally succumbed to the nausea, retching as her body voided itself of her stomach's contents. Breathing heavily as the feeling finally subsided, Ilona slumped back against the nearest tree, her pony coming to stand at her side, almost protectively.

She was not sure how long she laid there, head propped against the roughness of the tree bark but when she finally opened her eyes again, the sun had shifted to almost right over head. Her pony was still standing nearby, but had taken to grazing near the stream's edge. Begrudgingly, Ilona sat upright and began to rummage through her nearby knapsack. From it, she pulled a small wooden box, delicately engraved, inside of which were medicinal herbs. Quickly shuffling through the contents, Ilona settled on a pouch of yarrow. She quickly dressed the wound to prevent further bleeding and infection, though the blood seemed to have mostly dried when she passed out earlier. Assessing the damage to her clothes, she opted to wash the pieces in the water and hang them out to dry for a bit. While looking through a saddle bag for a replacement tunic, Ilona quickly looked around, noticing how close she was to what seemed like the edge of the forest. Her night run had seemingly brought her closer to a village in the Shire and she released a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Hopefully, she was not too late to make this meeting.

Her father would not be happy about this.