Trudge. Trudge. Trudge.
I dragged my feet another mile. Another mile again. I stopped.
Olorin was in front of me, his cloak disguising his bowed back and weary feet - or maybe he was just drawing on an invisible source of energy.
Olorin had closed the discussions with Merewan three days ago - giving Brundt's kidnapper's three days head start. We had set off immediately, following some trail only he seemed to know.
At the moment, Ranewan and Isilindil were scouting ahead, searching for a place to spend the night - we had been walking since we set off. Elves have high endurance, and what ever Olorin was, so did he. I was just a walking corpse by now though, every step carving another notch into my bones.
Finally, we stopped.
Too tired to greet Ranewan or Isilindil, I cast myself down by the fire immediately, not bothering to eat.
That night, I dreamt of an old man with a nose like Brundt's. He was muttering by the fire, watching me. He stood up, and walked towards me, and stroked me hair. In my ear, he whispered:
"Are you coming? I might be gone before you arrive..."
And then he walked off in between the trees. I called after him, and ran, but there was no one there. Then the trees moved, and turned into orcs, real ones like uncle Sam used to tell about - hulking and scary.
I screamed, and woke myself up.
"Olorin! Olorin!" I screamed "What if Brundt dies before we rescue him?"
"Shh... my dear hobbit, leave all the worry to me..." and I fell asleep promptly.
I had not dreamt like that for three years - my uncle Sam used to say that when I was asleep my heart would wander and visit those I worried about. Huh. He might just be right.
-Ruby Burrows
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