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                                                                                                      Of the Sea and Stars

‘The stars were never this bright’ she thought.

"Why do they look so clear?"

Squinting, it took her longer than she would have liked to admit for her to come to such a conclusion. 'Where's the constellation Orion?' Swallowing back the saliva that’s gathered under her tongue. Licking her dry lips, the thought that she was horizontal came next. Laying limply upon the ground. There was a strange sensation that came and went about at her legs. Shifting slightly, there was felt like sand all around her.  ‘A beach’ she thought. As she recognized the feeling of having her waist down half-submerged in the gentle tide. The scent of sea salt and sour seafoam filled her lungs with each shuddering breath. Her lungs ached, she noted.

Her lungs ached with each shuddering breath. She was too disoriented for thought, yet aware enough to feel the roll of the waves against her legs. The crooning roll and slosh of the waves lapped against her legs. ‘Like I’m being petted’ she mused as she lifted her head to stare down at her submerged ankles. Comforted like a wee babe nestled in its mother's arms after birth. It was repetitive, soothing how the waves retreated and returned to her tender skin in an endless rhythm. It felt as though the sea itself were a living breathing creature lying beside her. Inhaling and exhaling just a hair out of sync with her own breaths.

"How?" Her voice sounded so terribly small. Breathy, and swallowed up instantly in the darkness of the night. It sounded as if she had never spoken at all.

Inhaling greedily, small lungs spasm from the sharp air stinging her throat.

‘I’m alive…This is real. Too real to be a dream.’ It never felt this real even when lucid dreaming her mind added, as she flexed a foot.

"It hurts." 

'It hurts' she thought. Blinking the world into focus, she found her lashes clumped together with what felt like the dampness of tears. Though, she could not remember why she had cried, or if she had, or even that she had slept. There was nothing. Just a blank in where her experiences should be compared to what she knows to be true.

“Water is blue. I look both ways before crossing the street.” She paused ‘But why?’ she thought.

 Shivering, with a full body jolt she scrambled to a seat. Gooseflesh prickles along her body. Crossing her arms across her chest, she jolted again. It was cold. Way too cold, and she was bare. Looking around with her head on a swivel, there was no sign of anyone in sight. No living thing to suggest she was left here on purpose. Nothing to suggest she was left there by accident either. No pile of clothes, no food, no footprints left in the sand. Nothing.

“God-…damnit.”  White sand and dried sea water cling to her skin like a coat drawn too tight.

Drawing her knees to her chest, she set her gaze far off just above the horizon. There she could see the stars in the night sky burning brightly still. As if the heavens held the answers to all her questions. Not that they would give her any. Red-rimmed eyes observed the light they gave off even in the vast expanse of the dark. Twinkling small fires burning in space. Grains of sand clumped between her toes. Somewhere, far off, she could hear the screeching of seagulls. How the gulls were calling — their voices sounded so soft and mournful in the great emptiness of the shore.

"Where am I?" Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. Lighter, breathy, almost whisper like in quality to how she sounded before. Not that she could remember a time before. But she knew there was one. Surely this wasn’t what she sounded like. She sounded more mature before, more confident. Not like the child she sounded like now.

'Something is wrong' Her mind supplied. 'I don't sound like that.' 

Scowling, her brows furrowed. A wrinkle creased just along the skin of her nose as she glares directly upwards. As if these new stars at her zenith could tell her what had happened. Pulling herself back, she could feel how light she had become. As if copious pounds of weight and the fatigue of years past had been washed away.

'Since when have I sounded so small?'

Scooting back, and away from the cold water, she settled her gaze once more in front of her. The waves lapped gently at where she had once been easily within reach. Puffing out her cheeks with indignation, the desire to stand and explore settles deep within her belly. With a single great heave, her limbs tremble and waver as weight is being transferred from her rear, to the balls of her feet. Ending up into a decent crouch, it felt strangely refreshing to move with this amount of ease. Trembling, the effort of rising takes more than it had compared to opening her eyes. The sand was cold, and the fine granules under her soles made her want to itch.

"I've never lived near the ocean." the words tumble out into the silence once more. Looking down, she can feel how wide her eyes must be. Already straining lungs faltering as small breaths get caught in her windpipe.

"What."

Tremors wracked her being as she saw fingers that were not her own. She could move them however she wished, curling them at the knuckles and making fists. But these fingers were too dainty- uncalloused, she turned them over, almost glowing, ‘fluorescent’ her mind supplied.

With soft palms facing upwards towards the starlight, and a small, startled cry escaped her. These hands were not her own. The lungs she made that cry with were foreign. The way she saw even in the dark of night. With her new eyes, her new vision. She could see how her skin glowed faintly, like a milk glass beneath the moon.

“Am I a ghost?”

Heart hammering, she rose. She could feel her heart pounding within her chest “Ghost don't have a pulse.” The world spun — an expanse of silver sea and shadowed hills, a beauty so untamed it belonged to another age. The stars above burned vast and innumerable, their light sharp as glass. She had never seen the sky so wide. The air smelt fresh and clean, not like how cities were pumping out polluted gas masked as air. At least, that what she partly remembered.  

And yet, she felt impossibly small.

A memory flickered: a room filled with light, a book left open, a moment of falling through music without beginning or end. Then nothing. Only this.

And yet, she felt impossibly small.

Her voice, when she spoke, was thin and young, not the voice she remembered. “Where am I?” The words trembled, breaking against the wind. No answer came — only the quiet rush of waves and the low, endless sigh of the tide.

A shiver passed through her. The sea no longer felt merely cold but sentient, aware. Like she was being watched by a predator, or by a power greater than her own. When she closed her eyes, she thought she could hear something beneath its surface — a deep, resonant hum, like a song too vast for mortal ears. It rose and fell with the water, weaving through her bones until her heart seemed to beat in time with it.

And in that moment, she understood: this was something new.

Stumbling forward, drawn toward the retreating tide, she stood. New tender toes being bathed in ice cool waters. 

The tide began to draw back again, leaving her alone with the stars and the endless whisper of the waves. She stood for a long time, staring at the horizon where sea and sky met, until the chill called to her to draw inland. Turning round, her eyes widened. For miles upon miles, there was nothing save for rolling grassy hills and even further if she squinted. She could make out what looked to be trees and a mountain range beyond that. 

"No." Her throat grew tight. 'Where the hell am I?' mind racing, her vision blurred with hot tears. Resolutely setting her jaw, she began to walk. It was better than staying in place and risking being starved or eaten. There was the knowledge that even when walking she could face one or both of those fates. But there was a hope that maybe nearby there would be some sort of home or lodging she could stay at. Even a cave would be preferred just to get out from the open air and the biting chill.

Step by shaking step. Impossibly new muscles and weak sinews strained in her legs. Her calves burned and quads trembled with her wary gait.

And though fear pressed heavy in her chest, she felt the faintest pull of something greater — not comfort, not yet, but the promise of a purpose.

So, with a heaviness in her chest she walked on into the dark. 

She walked until her feet ached. Until the remnants of the sand granules dug into the skin of her heels. Wincing. A steady grimace worms its way onto her chapped lips. Her new feet moved gracefully despite the pain that came with each step. It was a type of grace that this new body of her possessed. Not something she knew from before. ‘If there was a before’ she thought ruefully.

"There has to be something here, a house? cars? buildings? just something." Her words felt heavy on her tongue.

Failing to comfort herself, her worries grew with each passing minute. The more that she walked, the more that time seemed to tick by in a slow trickle. There was nothing. No houses with porch lights, no buildings or sidewalks, not even the sound of a highway broke through the sounds of nature. Strange insects chittered and buzzed by in the tall grasses. Sounds of bats trilling overhead sounded ten times louder than they should have.

Reaching upwards with her new hands, her pace faltered as her fingertips grazed over small, rounded tips on the helix of her ears. One small point gently protruding out on each side. A flare of a new type of anxiety made her skin crawl. "What sort of bug bite does that?"

Pressing onwards, the stars she noted. They looked nothing like the constellations she knows. They looked wrong for the time and season. Orion was not in its place for winter; the pole star was nowhere to be seen. 'Unless the sky has changed, I might as well keep going. I'll run into people soon enough.' Her stomach gurgled in agreement. One hour of walking turned into two, then two into three. Her feet had long grown past the point of regular soreness, had she had on proper footwear and clothes. She would have paid more attention to how the darkness slowly drew away.

as morning light wormed its way up past the mountain range ahead. The beauty of the verdant grasses and richness of the soil did catch her eye on occasion, but that was when walking proved too difficult and a break felt like the best option. She took breaks often. Every few hundred feet forwards or so, just when it felt like her legs were going to give out or burst into hysterical tears. 'Breaks are a necessity' she reassured herself, as if she needed to be convinced. She couldn’t tell how long it’s been since she last had her belly full. Between the aching of her blistered and bruised feet, and the sickening ache of hunger pang in her stomach. She would has picked walking far longer if it meant having something warm to soothe her tummy. Somewhere out in the branches from the woods ahead a small finch sung out a merry tune. Wholly unawares of the plight of other hungry creature save for its own.

"I miss my phone. I could have called for help by now. I could be back home by now. All warm and cozy. It's not fair" Though she wondered what constitutes as being fair given her current disposition. The sound of her own whining made her flinch. 'I'm not five anymore' she reminded herself. 'Get it together.'

' It’s been years since she last interacted with a child, it felt hazy, but she knew or at least felt like she knew of one child within her family. But there was nothing defining that she could recall. All she knew was that they whined and threw hissy fits when they didn’t get want they wanted. A small smirk pulled at the outer edges of her lips.

‘God help me if I sound like that brat.’ Chortling at the mere idea of sounding so asinine. Something off in the distance drew her attention.

Smoke.

Instantly her stomach knew what it was, her mouth already salivating at the smell of pine bark being used as kindling. Someone made a campfire, and that someone was cooking,

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                                                                                               Kharikûr-gazâg

It felt like her stomach was personally revolting against her. Each step forwards sent a sharp pain up her legs. ‘Shin splints, motherfucker.’ Smirking, she could feel how her lips trembled. The once cool soil beneath her feet had already turned to near scorching by midday. At least, it must have been midday by judging how the shadows crossed the land with the sun’s cycle through the sky. The closer she seemed to be getting to the source of the fire, the farther and farther away it seemed to be. - A cruel mirage that taunted and teased mercilessly. The sun overhead blared down in torturously hot waves. ‘I remember it being winter last I checked.’ Her mind supplied weakly. The heat of the sun felt like a blessing at first. How its golden rays chased away the darkness and damp of the night. Only to be replaced with a light so blinding and a heat that made beads of sweat trickle down her face and neck. Lured on by the smell of smoke and the promise of people, it brought a strange feeling to her chest. An anxious sort of happy feeling.

“I’m going to cry. I’m going to cry, I swear to God. Why is it so far?” Licking her chapped lips, her throat constricted from dryness. The once high-pitched tone of voice was now scratchy. It hurt to talk; it almost hurt to breathe.

Wiping beads of sweat from her brow with her forearm, she peeled it back to watch as the moisture glistened on her skin. There was so much it was practically dripping off her arm and into the dirt and foliage below. ‘I used to sweat like this during cardio.’ The thought came and went as quick as a flash when she brought her forearm to her mouth. Licking up as much as she could, soft wet sounds of slurping fell deaf on her ears. The only thought in her mind now was simple and animal: to conserve energy and stay hydrated. The taste of salt and the texture of her skin against her tongue made her wince. ‘I’m desperate.’ She repeated. Looping the phrase over and over, the thought of dying a slow and agonizing death from dehydration played in her mind. All the visceral images of what such a small thing as lack of water can do to a human body. Dehydration can occur when the body loses more fluid than it gains. That was a solid fact. Drilled in by years and years of physical education from what surely seems like memories of schooling or some sort of education.

 But the memories were fuzzy at best, almost fading the longer the sun stayed in its perch overhead. ‘Anyone can become dehydrated,’ she noted. ‘It’s more serious with the elderly and young children.’ Stumbling, a small hiss passed through clenched teeth when her ankle rolled, and a sharp burn passed up her leg.

“Gah! - Ahh, shit! Shit, ow.” Bending over at the waist to glance down, a bead of sweat dripped from her forehead and glided to the tip of her nose in one smooth motion before dropping to the ground.

‘This is bad.’ The thought of it being bad currently froze her to the spot. If it was bad now, what would it be like later? There was no chance for stopping at a stream, no chance of finding some sort of shelter before nightfall. No chance of finding the person or people responsible for the campfire smoke. No chance of getting help of any kind.

The wind was hot and dry; only a trickle of a small breeze rushed through the land. With her newfound hearing, bugs chirped louder than ever before. Shuddering, the act of rising felt more herculean than anything else. The urge to cry burned at her eyelids, but no tears came out.

“"Hello?" There was only silence. Not a single soul lingered for miles around. She knew she was starving. Slowly withering away day by day the longer she went without food and drink. Her stomach churned.

"This blows."

Resuming pace, albeit a slower, more wobbly one. The forest in the distance looked closer than ever. No doubt her internal musings have done more than their fair share of passing the time away. The land around was beautiful. The more she focused on the landscape rather than the aching in her feet and legs, she noted how the trees stretched endlessly ahead. Their leaves shimmering like liquid glass in the hot breeze. Sometimes she thought she saw movement—a shadow against the expanse of bark, a flicker of a blue cloth—but when she blinked, there was only heat and dust. Soon the tall grasses gave way to the edge of the forest. Craning her head back to gaze all the way up at the trees. There was a burning ache blossoming in her neck.

“I don’t remember trees ever being this big.”  The silence began to hum around her words, the air thick with the smell of pine and sap, too strange and heavy for what she was used to. These weren’t the cotton and oak trees of home. Even the pines mixed in with the throng of others seemed to emit a strange energy.  

Hobbling past the first row of trees, more and more took up their place and loomed even taller as she walked deeper. The soil wasn’t as hot here. The shade from the leaves overhead made the undergrowth deliciously cool and crisp. The air felt less stuffy and more clean. The sounds of birds overhead in the branches sang and twittered away without a care in the world. Their birdsong called to one another, breaking the silence and filling it with the abundant sounds of life. Glancing down and then up and down once more to watch her footing. Her attention sharpened and waned from bird to branch to ground, then tree. Certain birds sounded familiar to her ears; others did not. Their calls were as beautiful as they sounded mysterious. Placing a hand on the trunk of the closest tree. The bark pressed deeply into the skin of her palm. Rough, scratchy, and cool. A welcome reprieve from the heat and the lingering sweat clinging to damp skin. Home was now behind her; the rest of this strange new world was ahead. Pressing her forehead close against the bark, the act of closing her eyes brought more solace than anything else could hope to offer in this moment. Sucking in a lungful of air through her nose, she paused only to cough out in small bursts.

There it was again. The smell made her nose twitch and her lungs ache. The smoke from the campfire. It smelled closer now. Closer, but not necessarily as strong as it once was. Grinning like a fool. Hope swelled in her chest.

“Hello!” The nearby birds tweeted in response to her call.

“Hello! Is anyone there? Can you help me?”

She smelled it again before she saw it—smoke, grey wispy tendrils that rose above the canopy of branches if she squinted hard enough upwards and into the distance. ‘Thank god, I’m not going to die here.’ The smoke was faint but undeniable. Her pace quickened, ignoring the pain in her leg and the burning in her ankle; a giggle rose past her lips as she trod forwards, limbs trembling. No reply came from her desperate calls. Just the sound of wind weaving through the leaves. Still, she smiled—a cracked, foolish little thing—and quickened her pace. Each step sent pain up her ankle, but she ignored it. The smoke was closer now. Real, not a hallucination brought on by heat. Stumbling at a quick pace, bursting onward, her giggles echoed faintly between the trees—a lost thing chasing hope through a forest too large to comprehend.

“Hello! Can you hear me?” Clumps of rich soil tickled her soles. ‘Feels good,’ she thought. ‘I feel good’ and ‘I’m not alone’ rushed through her head. If she were back home and lost in the woods, there would be other thoughts rushing in her head before the instinct of rushing towards the promise of salvation.

There was no fear of encountering any strange men, no fear of being murdered in cold blood or mistaken by a hunter for being some sort of wild game. The forest began to thin out the deeper she went, limping; light pooled in strange golden shards through the canopy. Smoke still clung to the air—faint but distinct, curling in lazy, translucent ribbons that tangled through the shafts of light. She slowed, almost afraid to disturb the scene ahead. Her breathing came in ragged bursts, shallow and uneven, and her chest ached with every inhale. Still, she pushed forward, the promise of fire—of someone—stronger than reason. Hunger renewed its presence within her empty and aching stomach. ‘If there are people, maybe they’re willing to share their food.’ The thought made her mouth water.

The smell grew thicker and heavier, the kind that clung to the back of her tongue. Swallowing the buildup of saliva from under her tongue. The viscous fluid soothes her parched throat for now. Then there, a few yards ahead, came the sight of it: a small clearing tucked between the trees, still and as quiet as a grave. Her heart sank.

There was no one there.

Not a single soul in sight.

Her laughter died immediately.

 Slowing her hobble, the smile on her lips sunk into a pensive expression. If she could cry, she would have. Instead, a deep ache settled in her chest. The remnants of a fire lay in the middle, reduced to a pit of white ash and blackened logs. A single thread of smoke drifted upward, twisting into the air before fading into nothing. Still mid-step, her legs buckled, sending her to the ground in a stunned heap. For a long moment, she just lay there. The silence pressing down on her like a weight, so thick it almost felt alive. The birds that had filled the forest with song moments ago had gone still, the world holding its breath in tandem with her.

“What?”

Her eyes darted from one side of the clearing to the other. A small bedroll lay half-unfurled near the fire pit, its edges stiff with dirt. It looked smaller than usual. ‘Too small for a fully grown man or woman. Better sized to fit a child, but what sort of child goes camping this far into the woods?’ The more she looked, the more she saw. There were five in total. Five small bedrolls and a metal cup, overturned, lay by a patch of trampled grass. She crouched slowly, moving from lying stiffly to moving to hands and knees. Reaching out for the trampled grass and the remnants of the fire, her fingertips brushed along the ground as if she were touching something sacred. Sunburnt fingers brushed the rim of the pit, ash crumbling soft and cool, smearing black along tender skin. In a way, it was. The first chance of meeting other people, of coming so far from where she woke. ‘They were here. Not long ago.’ The idea stuck like a splinter. Smoke still clung to the air, proof and taunt all at once. And there was nothing. The revelation stung more than any blow that could ever be inflicted on her. Past or present, she had never felt anything like this. A soft cry bubbled in her throat, only to be halted by the feeling of grass. The ground was still warm—not fresh, but not cold either.

“Hello?” she tried again, barely above a whisper.

No answer.

The clearing was empty, but not untouched. A few paces away, a small pack leaned against a tree, its flap open. The contents spilled across the ground—a tin plate, a bit of rope, and a ragged scrap of cloth. Nothing that spoke of who it belonged to. Short people, obviously, but there was nothing else.  Nothing that gave away what kind of people were camping here what may have been hours or even minutes ago. Only the quiet order of something left behind in a hurry. Crawling slowly and scanning the trees. The light began to shift between them. Golden rays flickering like something moving just out of sight. Midday was long past over; night would soon be falling. Her mouth felt dry again.

 “I… I saw your fire,” she tried. “I didn’t mean to—I just—” Her voice faltered.

All at once, the forest felt closer, the shadows too thick between the trees. Grief gnawed deeply in her bones. It was as if the whole world narrowed down to one point and had stopped altogether. Pressure bloomed in waves under her temples. As the light dimmed, evening clouds rolled in, veiling the sun. That giddy hope she’d carried this far began to unravel, leaving only the hollow taste of smoke and fear in her mouth.

“It’s not fair.”

Rising from her crouch, she took one hesitant step backward, then another.

“Whoever you are,” she said softly, “you can keep your damn camp.”

And yet, even as she turned to go, her gaze kept drifting back—to the smoldering pit, the forest that seemed to breathe around her. Something had happened here. Something that urged her to linger in place for a second longer. When the next gust of wind came, it dragged with it a sound akin to a grunt.

“Man-nu dîn? Baraz?”

The sudden guttural tone makes her squeak. Cold dread drops over flushed skin as if it were an icy bucket of water. Turning round once more, A flash of pain throbs in her ankle, a protest at the sudden movement. There, standing only a yard away. He is a man. A short, bearded, and heavily armed man. The man stood stock-still, his steel-grey eyes scanning over every bit of exposed flesh with a mix of curiosity, caution, and concern. He looked as though he had stepped out from the very bark and stone of the world. ‘He looks like he could rip me in two if we wanted.’ His beard was thick, coal black, braided in parts, and flecked with streaks of grey and silver. His armor—if it could be called that—was forged of overlapping scales of tough leather and layers of cotton. Across his back hung a broad-headed axe, its blade dull in the evening light, but the edge carried that particular shine only a weapon well cared for could hold. His thick brows furrowed.

He spoke again, slower this time, but no less wary. “ "Noldorinai? Manû shak dûm azghal giglar-nu?"

Staring, the only action that felt safe to do was to hold up her hands. Palms facing up and outwards to show she meant no harm. Though her state of bareness allowed her nothing to hide. Slowly curling in, her shoulders hunched and hairs rising on the back of her neck, she warily eyed the blade of his axe.

“Wh-what? I—I don’t understand.” The croak of her strained vocal cords makes her grimace. The grimace isn’t lost on the dwarf either; at the sound of her voice, she can see how his eyebrows rise in confusion before settling down in a furrow once more. She could feel his eye roaming, his mind no doubt swirling with questions.

“Tumunzada Westron-nu?”

At her blank stare. The man sighed. With one large meaty hand, he closed his fingers around one of her outstretched hands. A mixed look of concern and disgust painted his face as he scanned her over. Whether it was by how she looked or because of her circumstances, she couldn’t say. The immediate warmth and heat from another living person made a choked-back sob crawl from her esophagus.

 “I don’t—” She shook her head, chest tightening, the sound of his deep voice vibrating through the air like the rumble of thunder. “I don’t know where I am.”

The dwarf’s gaze softened then, almost imperceptibly. He looked her over again—not as one might inspect a threat, but as a craftsman examines a strange tool, unsure of its purpose yet unwilling to discard it. The forest creaked quietly around them, branches whispering in the dying light. The dwarf’s grip was firm but not cruel—a weight both grounding and startlingly real. Bristlingly aware of his calloused hand, the skin rough as stone, warm with life. Her own fingers felt frail in comparison, bones and sinew too soft, too breakable. His thumb pressed briefly against the heel of her palm, as if testing her—the texture of her skin, the tremor in her hammering pulse. He muttered something under his breath, deep and rhythmic, his words carrying the resonance of the earth itself. She caught only fragments—Noldorinai—sounds that meant nothing, yet struck something ancient in her chest. His grey eyes, sharp beneath the heavy ridge of his brow, studied her with open suspicion. His gaze lingered on the curve of her collarbone, the smudges of dirt across her ribs, and the wild hair clinging damply to her face. Sunburnt patches littering her skin. Not lustful, not cruel—but wary, as if he’d found something that shouldn’t exist.

Her breath shuddered. “I don’t… understand what you’re saying.”

He blinked once, slowly. Then turned as more short men came into view. The other six, no doubt, lingered in her mind after she stumbled into their campsite. Feeling self-conscious with so many eyes trained on her. She opened her mouth, but the sound that emerged wasn’t speech—just a dry, broken rasp.  

The man sighed deeply, adjusting the axe at his back, before nodding toward the rest.  “"Zarak-durbâd-ûlû, gabilim kuli nax. Baraz-dûm izkal gundûr nâz."

His words slipped past her like water, their meaning lost in his deep, rolling cadence. Yet the tightening of his grip said enough—firm, steady, commanding her trust. He drew her a step closer, the motion careful but certain. Another figure approached, shorter still, with hair the color of burnt chestnut, auburn if she looked closely. His beard looked more untamed than the one holding her wrist. It jutted unevenly in a way that made it look like broken rock. Without a word, he shrugged off his heavy coat and draped it around her shoulders, his movements slow and deliberate—as though she were a skittish creature that might bolt at any sudden sound.

“What are you?” She whispered. The shared look the men give each other gives nothing away. ‘Hopefully they can help me.’ The sound of an empty tummy breaks the silence with a soft rumble. Immediately an embarrassed flush warms her cheeks. At the sight the brown-haired man smiles softly, no doubt understanding what an empty stomach feels like. Gently prying away the black-haired dwarf’s hand. He leads her close to the firepit. The others were already building the fire, and the rest were setting out their sleeping mats once more. Easing her gently down to the ground. The dwarf flinches when a pained whimper passes her lips. A look of shock paints his sun-beaten features. Immediately curling her legs under her bottom, her hands clutch at the thick coat, pulling it around her shoulders tightly for modesty and warmth. Slowly crouching down beside her, he gestures to his chest first.

“Farin.”

“W-what?” Biting her lower lip. Her frightened eyes wander his broad frame.

“Farin.” He says again.

‘Oh, that must be his name.’ Licking her lips, she shakes her head as he gestures to his chest again.  With her eyes cast down at the ground, her gaze switches between his chest and the third man working on the fire. At her silence, the dwarf hums softly. His own gaze followed hers to watch his companion tend to the fire. The heavy coat settled around her shoulders and provided a warmth and comfort that she didn’t know she needed. It smelled of smoke and something metallic—iron, maybe—and the faint musk of sweat and earth. She sank into it without thinking, fingers curling into the rough weave. The dwarf, Farin, her mind supplied, kept his movements slow and deliberate, as if she were some frightened animal that might bolt at the first sharp sound or raised voice.

He said something again, a low rumble that vibrated through the air rather than pierced it. She caught none of the meaning, only the tone—steady, patient. The words of the first dwarf came sharper, clipped syllables traded between them. They sounded almost like the striking of flint: brief sparks that flared and vanished.

“I don’t understand,” she rasped, shaking her head. Her throat burned with every word. “I—I can’t understand you.”

Concerned blank looks. A few low exchanged words. The black-haired one tilted his head slightly, as though trying to puzzle her out. Then, slowly, he pointed to himself.

“Karin,” he said. The sound was round and deliberate.

“Karen?” she tried.

He huffed, amusement breaking through his beard. “Karin.”

Close enough, she supposed.

The other dwarf spoke again, his tone softer now. He gestured toward the tree line, then back to her. It was a question. As if he were asking ‘where did she come from?’ or, ‘Where ‘If there were more of her kind coming.’ She hesitated, unsure of what to do or say. Her legs ached too much from the long walk to run, and the woods behind her felt like a grave waiting to be filled. When she shook her head uncertainly, the two shared a deeply pensive look.

The black-haired dwarf, Karin, shifted his weight from side to side. With her hearing, the shifting of his weight and the rustle of fabric and leather armor sounded louder than it should have. His voice dragged her attention back for a moment, almost flinching from the thought of him speaking to her; his eyes, she noted, were focused on Farin. Together their voices melded like stone against stone. One of the other dwarves approached; another ginger. This one, carrying a kettle to the now steady flame. He moved with a tiredness that spoke of long days and nights with nothing but company as a source of nourishment.

When the sound of boiling water rumbled within the kettle, there came with it the scent of faint herbs. Ones they must have picked along their journey. She didn’t even realize that she had leaned closer until Farin let out a small huff of amusement. His nostrils flared and eyes twinkled with mirth, a sight that brought to mind a flicker of something familiar. Like a grandfather watching his grandchild attempting something new for the first time. Watching him move slowly, he brought his hands to his pockets. Retrieving a small bundle of cloth, he unwrapped it and held it out to her, revealing strips of dried meat.

She stared at it, half in disbelief. “For me?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. He said something that might have been yes or might have been nothing at all. But his eyes softened; he recognized the sound of hunger in her tone.

The meat was tough and salty and tasted faintly of smoke and fat. It hurt to chew, her jaw protesting after so much dryness, but she didn’t care. Every bite felt like life clawing its way back into her veins. Her empty belly singing with joy at finally being filled. Farin watched, brow furrowed as though assessing her reaction, before passing her a small dinted cup. The liquid inside was murky and warm—a strange taste, bitter and sharp—but it went down easily, and her god-gifted dry throat loosened with every swallow. The dwarves spoke among themselves in murmurs, the rhythm of their tongue deeply hypnotic. She couldn’t tell if they were debating about her presence or simply talking about their journey. -or if she was a burden worth keeping around. Against better judgment, she felt herself sagging into the coat. Deeply rooted exhaustion crawled, creeping up her limbs like weathered vines. The steady heat from the fire and the weight of the coat were enough to lull her to drowsiness.

Karin said something again, a rumbling murmur as he pointed to the bedroll beside the fire. His tone left no room for refusal.

‘Probably wants me to rest,’ she guessed quietly, voice hoarse.

Her body obeyed before her mind could argue. Whose bedroll she was lying in, she had no clue. Only accepting what was being offered with grateful limbs and a tired mind. The coat slipped further around her shoulders as she lay down. The murmuring of the dwarves faded into a steady rhythm—the gentle crackle of the fire and its glowing embers scratched at her brain in a way that felt familiar. ‘Campfire Videos, I loved those.’. With a warm belly and a sense of peace. Sleep came easily.

~~~

Man-nu dîn? Baraz? (What’s this then? A thief?)

"Noldorinai? Manû shak dûm azghal giglar-nu?" (Elven-kind? What's a young thing like you doing here?)

Tumunzada Westron-nu? (Can you speak Westron?)

"zarak-durbâd-ûlû, gabilim kuli nax. Baraz-dûm izkal gundûr nâz." ("this wandering lost thing, the elves have no shame. Losing one of their own.)

Chapter Text

                                                                              Peditham hi sui vellyn? (May we speak as friends now?) 

The stars faintly danced in the rapidly changing skies when Karin woke. Blue eyes burning with strain as he struggled to grasp a sense as to what woke him. It was far too early with the barely approaching morning to consider packing up camp and starting on foot. Watching the stars fade away into the familiar purple-orange hues of dawn, he felt a chill. ‘Where could this child have come from?’ His heart ached deeply at the thought. Something unsettling and ugly coiled in his gut. It was strange, terribly so for one so young to be so far without anyone else. Suspicious in its own way, but none in their party was one to turn away a soul in need. Much less so a child. The urge to reach for his favored pipe gnawed away at the forefront of his thoughts. But children have delicate lungs; turning in his bedroll, he sniffed and settled against it. Smoking would be of no use here.

It wouldn’t be until just an hour after dawn broke before he next woke.

Unforgiving morning light drifted through the mists of the new day. The sweet smell of morning danced on the breeze with a rich cacophony of moisture and thriving vegetation. Thin, papery wisps of fog sprawled ghostly across the foothills in the far distance. Glistening drops of dew slicked the verdant grasses, dampened sturdy bedrolls, and cooled sun-kissed skin. Every morning was the same. Rising up before the sun had fully risen in the sky, packing up camp, and preparing for another long walk. Silence rolled over the small party as thick as freshly sheared sheep’s wool. Today, it was Farin’s turn to lead the small party. His brown beard swayed in time with his heavy footfalls. Tiny stray hairs twisting and dancing about his face like flies. After him came Karin, his axe glinting in the sun’s light. And after Karin came the rest. Barik, Carik, and Teor. Five in total, now with a new sixth member of their group.

“We’re running low on supplies.” Teor rolled his eyes at Barik’s tone. The meaning of supplies is not lost on any of them.  What he really meant was ‘food.’ Running low on food.

Teor gave thanks to Aulë when Barik didn’t press on any further.

The crunch of boots on gravel and the squelch of rough soles on grass broke the monotony of nature’s sounds. They counted their blessings, as the weather they had been granted along the southern Vales of Anduin was considerable. Each day the dwarves rose before the sun, as was their habit. The rhythm of the road was already pressed into their bones. Between the front and back of the single-file line they had taken a liking to for walking was the child. Held securely against Carik’s back by a few scraps of linen and cotton. His belongings found another place for the time being on Barik’s other shoulder.  ‘She’s light as tinder. Lighter than any proper child should be.’ The first time they’d taken turns carrying her was the morning after she stumbled onto the campsite. In the dawn’s early light, he’d nearly dropped her, having been expecting more weight. Her squeal of terror that day peeled off into what surely must have been curses in whatever strange tongue she spoke; at least that was the general consensus of all who were present. 

“Is she awake yet?” Carik called out to Teor in the back, who could see past his hat and hair clearer than Carik could his own. 

“No, sleeps like the dead.” Came the sturdy dwarf’s reply.  

They had learned, over these past three days, that her ankle was worse than it had first initially appeared. And wherever she had come from, none could begin to hazard a guess. Her tongue sounded nothing like Elvish from what they could tell. Possibly some foreign tongue of man’s language, but it didn’t seem likely. As human as the child acted, it was odd how taken with the dwarves she was. Almost like how a baby chick imprints on the first thing it sees upon hatching from its shell. ‘Too mannish, yet not like them at all,’ mused Teor as his thoughts wandered back to her ankle. It didn’t look bruised or swollen, but the way she cried out at even the smallest pressure was cause for alarm. Through trial and error, they found that she could limp when the ground was level, but when there was an incline or decline in the terrain, she would stop. So, in order to not lose any more time, they carried her—Carik in the mornings when he was filled with a new day’s strength, and Farin in the afternoon when it was time to switch carrying packs. Barik sighed as he stepped forwards, his wide body moving with a grace unexpected of one of his stature and build. ‘How absurd,’ he chided. His eyes roamed the landscape for any signs of danger. ‘Out of work, exiled from home, now we’re reduced to nursemaids for an elfling who can’t speak a lick of Westron.’ But even the loudest grumbles of protest had grown quieter with each passing day.

“Strange thing, isn’t she? Her gestures make things easier.” The sound of Karin’s voice was pointed but not directed at anyone in particular.

 The conversations were light for most of the morning. By midday, the morning mists had burned away, and the forests gave way to rolling grasslands. They’d learned little of her—only that she was an elf-child of some kind, though from where they couldn’t say. Even where they had found her, there was no marker on the map that signified an elvish settlement. The lack of clothes and her appearance told of there being no elven camp nearby. She spoke no word of Westron, nor of any tongue known to them.  It was baffling.

“Elves speak fancy languages, all pointy ears and fine silks. Tall bastards, the lot of them.” Karin chortled out. 

“Not this one.” At the sound of Teor’s rebuttal, Karin shook his head. 

“Not this one? We’re not keeping her. Waste of time and supplies.” 

“Gah! Come on, brother.” Chimed in Farin. His lighter timbre easily worming its way between the two baritones. “Just for a while, then we drop her off at a mannish town. Someone can help her further then.” 

As if on cue, sensing the shifting of their thoughts, the girl stirred awake on Carik’s back. One of her tiny hands was clutching and gently pulling at the coarse braid that hung over his shoulder. A soft sound escaped her, almost a squeak with how parched her throat must be. It sounded like a question in tone, but none understood its meaning. Yet all in the party turned slightly, ears listening despite themselves.

The group in all had figured that the elfling couldn’t have been more than twenty summers by the look of it. Though the ways dwarves differ from elves in terms of their life cycles are vastly different. Twenty had seemed to be a good estimate at the time. But her lack of knowledge and wonderment of how they set up camp and watched them do each mundane chore make her seem years younger. She had tried to communicate before. First, with her strange speech and mannerisms. But when blank looks met equally blank gazes, her speech turned to gesture and expression. Mostly nods and head shaking, hand gestures, pointing, miming, and mimicking tone and actions. These small glimpses offered only the smallest fragments of sense that any rational mind could make. Karin frowned, ‘Slow then.’ He decided. Though her eyes shone bright with intelligence.

 “Here,” Teor called, voice rough from lack of water. The waterskins they all carried now bordered on being dangerously low thanks to one more mouth to feed. “Set her down. Let’s see if that ankle’s any better.”

 Carik gently eased the girl from his back, shoulders aching from the way her small body was being carried rather than from her weight. She blinked, disoriented, then winced as her bare foot touched the ground. Her coat that Farin had given to her slipped around wobbly knees, revealing the thin, haphazardly mended trousers and oversized spare shirt that had once belonged to another party member that no longer resided amongst the living. Karin winced at the sight of something dwarvish in make hanging off the shoulders of a being so small. ‘She deserves to be in the arms of her kin, not the likes of us.’ By the looks of it, the others had agreed to the same thought days ago. Elves don’t belong in the company of dwarves, but that doesn’t mean that they would leave her out to die on her own. The natural elements could be too cruel in those regards.  Wordlessly, Farin crouched, gesturing to her leg.

“Foot,” he said in Westron, enunciating slowly. The child only furrowed her brows, her lips pressing together in what looked to be a pout. That sour of an expression shouldn’t belong on a face so fair. By the look of it, Karin was close to cracking a smirk.

“If our maker Mahal wanted me to play healer, he’d have made me an elf.”  Barik snorted. “Aye, and cursed you with silky hair and ears like sails.” 

The girl tilted her head, not understanding, though perhaps she caught the tone. Judging by the way her lips curved into a faint ghost of a smile. ‘By Mahal’s balls, the poor lass doesn’t understand anything we say.’ Was the only thought that ran through Barik’s mind as he watched Farin try speaking to their newest burden. The way her eyes shone with tears from pain. Her blank gaze watching their hands rather than their faces further reinforced the idea of a non-understanding between them. Farin’s calloused fingers pressed lightly along her ankle and shinbone. Nothing appeared to be broken, but she hissed in pain. The bruising her pale skin sported had already begun to fade to a dull greenish-yellow. 

“Better,” he murmured. “You’ll walk again soon, little one.”

 She sniffled once—a wet sound that didn’t quite match her appearance. She didn’t understand, but she seemed to know what he meant. 

“She’s learning, you know.” His voice cut through the calm. Karin paused at the sound of his tone.

“Look at her eyes. She watches every word we speak. Our hands—she’s trying to learn.” 

“Aye, Learning like she’s deaf and dumb.” Barik grunted. “We’re no teachers.” 

Teor ignored them, instead taking an interest in the ground beneath his feet. Taking a flat stone, he drew lines in the dirt—simple marks for sun, moon, tree, and mountain. Then he pointed to each and gave their names:

 “Aman” was sun. The drawing was illustrated by a simple circle with small lines radiating from it. 

“Shem” was the moon, a simple crescent shape.  Tree was “gabil,” which looked more like a drawing of a cloud on top of a misshapen stump. 

And mountain was “khrun.” Teor sighed wistfully as, instead of the mountain range he intended to draw, it looked more and more like Erebor with each stroke in the dirt.  The girl watched with wide, fascinated eyes.

Her lips parted in a look of awe. ‘Like my son,’ thought Teor as he leaned forward. Mimicking the sounds of each shape, she laughed when she stumbled over the guttural sounds. No question about it, the dwarven tongue felt strange to elfling lips. It wasn’t much. But it was something. After more hours of walking, stopping by streams that they happened on by chance, and setting snares for the unfortunate rabbit or two that wandered too close. The bright midday sun soon fell to the dusk of evening. They had settled for camp when the last rays of light glimmered through the trees. The fire crackled from its spot in the pit. ‘A poor excuse of a hearth,’ thought Barik as he tended to the fire, watching it grow. On nights such as these, the world felt infinitely larger than it once did. Too large for a group of five dwarves and a single elf child. Memories stirred of Erebor and its great forges, craftsmen at their places and making only the finest for the nobles of both the race of men and dwarves.

Times had been simpler back in those days. ‘How the mighty have fallen.’ Too soaked up in pride and ego to appreciate all the good times fully. Now here they were, as a race—scattered apart in the lands like wandering ghosts. Working for men who underpaid for quality work and expected nothing but the best. Walking endlessly from town to town, city to city. Dropping the stragglers like flies. Only the strongest made it when traveling in small groups like this. Drifting his gaze from the crackling embers and shifting flames. He watched the child as she lay on her side. Her front was facing the flames, with her head resting on Karin’s boot as a makeshift pillow. Twenty was the number they had guessed, but she looked so young. Frail even.  Barik’s eyes ghosted over the duo. Karin and the elfling—a strange picture indeed. Everything about her looked painful. The sun did more damage than they had originally supposed when they first met. She was sunburnt, not in the way when one stayed merely outside for too long and did not notice. But had the appearance of one who had been beaten down by the sun’s heat and harsh light. Flakes of skin had already been peeling off from her shoulders, back, neck, and knees. Her face, they had feared, would have grown to be swollen—but thankfully no such thing had come to pass.

“All she does is eat, sleep, and look scared.” Karin raised his eyes. Green meeting blue. “Why do you think she acts the way she does?”

Karin swallowed dryly. “Don’t want to know.”

She looked to be seven when compared to the race of men. Her limbs looked too delicate for the race of dwarves and, if compared to the race of men, too weak. Spitting grossly into the fire, Barik shook his head. Her eyes, when open and alert, looked like the richest of soil. Filled with life and goodness that makes the trees grow and lands abundant with life. Her hair, as matted and tangled as a rat’s nest, burned with the color of hot iron in the sun and a deep russet in the shade. 

“I thought elves didn’t abandon their own.”  The sound of Karin’s voice broke Barik’s inner musings. Turning his gaze to look at the one-shoed dwarf. Barik gestured for him to continue. 

“You think she was abandoned?”  The look Karin gave him made him feel fifty years younger. Like he had asked his mentor a dumb question after having the topic be explained in length beforehand. 

“As do you.”  There was no need to speak much of such dark topics when the next few days would prove to be dark enough in themselves.

The map, which led to the nearest city, showed that they would be a few days away. Their charge would eventually go from their hands to another’s. There was no telling whether they would find anyone remotely trustworthy in the next town. But there was no chance they could care for a child while going from one town to the next. She just wouldn’t last. By dawn the next morning, the mists had returned, curling low around their ankles as they set off once more. The child limped a few steps, then gestured insistently toward Farin with her soft palms. Big brown eyes pleading like a dwarfling for its mother. 

Farin sighed, “Can’t be doing this all the time, you know.” But he knelt down regardless to let her climb onto his broad back.

 “You’re spoiling her,” Teor said, though there was no real heat in it. “She’s not going to want to walk on her own if she expects you to carry her the whole time.”

 “Bah! She’s alright. Let her enjoy it. Doesn’t weigh as heavy as my pack.” Farin retorted as he hoisted her up and clasped his hands under her kneecaps. The sound of her soft sigh of contentment made the gesture all the sweeter. 

“There’s a city not two weeks south of here according to the map.” Karin butted in, squinting his steel eyes to the horizon. “They’ll need smiths and masons; they always do. -”

Memories of previous jobs came and went. From shoveling manure from the dirt roads to make them passable and more pleasing to the eye. Or the time when chopping down trees in the dead of winter proved to be too taxing on the mannish residents of one of the last towns they resided in. Three dead men in total. Died from hypothermia; cold exposure. Skin all waxy and discolored. Flaky bluish-grey lips and fingers. ‘Poor bastards.’ Karin wiped at his eyes. ‘They made some ugly corpses.’ Pity turned to resentment when the town mayor decided it was better to hire dwarves to do the work. Idly he stroked the rim of his pipe from within his side pouch. He could almost taste the leaf and smoke on his tongue.

Carik stroked his beard, tone gruff as anxiety swelled in his gut. “-Aye, IF they’ll take dwarves. Men have grown skittish these last few years. Think of us as thieves.”

 “Then let them think,” Karin said. “Work is work. We all need food in our bellies and a roof over our heads. We know when to keep our heads down.”

 Barik eyed the girl, who was contentedly watching them all gather up camp and ready themselves for another long walk to their next campsite. She smiled and waved shyly when their eyes met.

“And what of her, then? She’s no smith and not much use with an axe. Too weak, too scrawny. No one will want another mouth to feed.” 

“We’ll find someone who can take her in.” Teor’s gaze softened. “Elves—doubt we’ll run into any. But maybe some kind-hearted folk, if such still exist.” 

Barik grunted again, though not unkindly. “Aye, if we live that long. These lands aren’t known for their kindness to the weary.” 

“What about Mirkwood? We can drop her off at the outskirts, make some noise, and let the elves find her.” Carik rumbled with a smirk. Already he knew that changing course was out of the question. And that there was no sure-fire way of guaranteeing that any elves would come at the ruckus of five measly dwarves at their borders.

“Durin’s beard, your father raised you to be as empty-headed as your stomach at supper.” Was Karin’s reply. “They’d probably shoot us down before we could even say we have one of their kin.” 

“But we’re closer to that dreaded place than any other elvish settlement.” Grumbled Carik.

“Aye, and the great bear that wanders these parts? What of him then?”

“What of him? It’s just a bear?”  Black bears are nothing to worry about. But brown bears are a whole different matter.

Karin could feel his temples throbbing. “Beorn—if that is his name. Is not JUST a bear.”

The silence that followed was stagnating.  When they had walked no more than an hour, the child had begun to hum. Her tune was bright, with small breaks that almost made one pause. Up and down her little voice went, her small fingers occasionally drumming on Farin’s shoulders in time with her voice. An odd creature she was; she didn’t act as an elf nor a dwarf. Sometimes they would see glimpses of her actions as sort of mannish. Her mannerisms and gestures were more relaxed and casual compared to the stuck-up elves they had seen and heard about. Though, those times were rare and few in between. Barik sighed; a small sad smile tugged on his lips. ‘Two weeks left.’ His mind supplied, and his heart stung at the thought of not having their elfling for much longer. 

Chapter Text

                                                                                                 Lost or Wandering

                                                                                          {…} means English speech. 

‘Twenty miles yesterday, twenty-five before that. Today should be about fifteen if we’re lucky.’ Farin grimaced as he watched the child scout from her spot on Carin’s back. She looked as if she thought she belonged there. All high and mighty without having to set a single foot on the ground. Walking on foot was the only way to travel as poor as they are. The brisk pace they had before their unexpected addition would have landed them at their destination right on time. Scowling, piercing dark eyes scanned the far-spanning horizon. The woods all those miles back looked like nothing more than a speck in the distance; up ahead, miles further, there looked to be another forest head. Just as dark and just as dense, if not more so.

“You’re sure you’re reading the map, right?” The sound of Farin’s skepticism made Karin chuckle. The guttural sound made the child strapped to Carik’s back hum in interest, as if his amusement were actually her own.

Swinging her legs happily on either side of Carik’s broad back, her lilting tones drifted to that of a rhythmless tune. Her voice would waver in and out of tune; sometimes Carik would hop along with the beat or chime in with a strong belt that would make the girl erupt into a fit of giggles.

“Careful, lad, she’ll have you dancing all the way to town if you let her.” Rolling his eyes at Farin’s jab, Carik paid him no mind as he hoisted the child higher. His strong hands supported her under each knee as the straps securing her to him kept her in place.

Calling out from a few steps ahead, Karin’s tone cut through the atmosphere like a knife. “Settle down back there; the more time you spend talking means more time and energy being wasted not walking.” Immediately the two sobered up. But the girl continued to hum, albeit more quietly. There was no mistaking his tone; universal body language gives more than one initially thinks: Karin was irritated. As was Farin.

Farin’s knees ached. Not as much as he thought they would due to his age, but enough to make walking at the slightly slower pace enough of a nuisance. The breeze brought with it a tender chill that was more than welcomed on the sore spot on the back of his sunburnt neck. The only downfall was that the wind carried with it pollen, making his nose drip and eyes water. A family predisposition, though Karin didn’t get his allergies until winter turned to spring. ‘Just my luck.’ Sniffling, he turned his eyes to Karin ahead. His long strides showed no signs of slowing, as if fatigue hadn’t yet settled into his bones. As the minutes passed, the child’s hums grew quieter once more, and the grasslands gave way to uneven earth. Green and brown shallow dips and rises littered the land. It was a pretty sight for those who had a full stomach. Every now and again, Teor’s boots would strike against a hidden stone, and a hollow sound and a muttered curse would carry across the open stretch of grassland. The sky, pale blue and cloudless, gave no hint of the hour; only the steady passage of the sun arcing across the sky and moving the shadows along the ground told them time was still moving.

“Fifteen more miles,” he says, Carik muttered stiffly under his breath. Jostling the elfling for a brief moment, her peals of laughter made them all feel lighter. But no less wary. “Feels like it’s been thirty.”

“Then you should let the girl walk; she’s got feet.” Farin replied, giving the child a pointed look. His eyes scanned her features once more, judging whether or not she could manage a mile or two on her own two feet.  

At his assessing stare, her lips morphed into a pout before she stuck her tongue out in response, a tiny, fleeting act of defiance and pride that made Teor crack a rolling laugh out loud. Almost like thunder, just as loud, but more warm than anything like its stormy counterpart. “Careful, lad, she’s more dwarf than elf now.”

Karin added. “She’s learning all your habits already. The bad ones.”

Walking steadily on. Thoughts of supplies, the cost, and finding lodgings weighed heavily in the dwarves’ minds. Going from town to town, from settlement to settlement, was no life for a child. But for them, they had to grow used to it. Get used to the life of a nomad…or die being left behind. It wasn’t a forgiving lifestyle, not by any means. The call of home grew stronger within their bones the longer time drew on; the passage of time didn’t make it hurt any less. If anything, it made their homesickness grow and fester like an open gaping wound. Groaning, Farin glared tiredly down at the ground and marched up ahead. His ankles burned with the sudden increase of speed. He wanted to walk away, get away from all this mess. If anyone were to see the group of them with a child from another race. They would assume the worst. ‘Everyone assumes the worst of dwarves,’ the vile voice in the back of his head gnawed at him.

His stubborn pride wouldn’t allow him to vocalize his needs. “Imagine finding her folks… all worried about her… If we find them—”

 “Or if they find us!” cut in Carik before Teor smacked him upside the head with one of his massive hands.

Farin could feel his temples throbbing. “Aye… or if they find us. Wouldn’t they be appalled at all the bad behavior we’re teaching her?”

As if on cue, the child still strapped to Carik’s back jerked her hands out to give a firm tug on one of his braids. “AIE! Lass, quit it.” A giggle was all he got in response. “Devilish thing you are.”

They walked for a few more miles, roughly two or nearly three altogether, before the midday sun beat down on their backs once more. Walking until they could bear the heat no further, Karin spied a small patch of shade made by a group of trees that bowed inwards together. ‘Perfect spot for a breather.’ Moving on instinct, Karin paused in his tracks. Raising a fist and calling out hoarsely, the signal for a break was made. The others followed without a word of opposition, as they felt the shade to be a welcome omen from Yavanna herself. Tired breaths and aching tones turned to sighs of satisfaction and mild laughter within seconds. Once in the coolness of the shade, Carin carefully reached back to undo the straps that secured their charge to his back. The sounds of cloth and rustling signaled her freedom as Carik let out a heavy sigh.

“There we go, you’re free now, little lass.” The girl smiled sheepishly as she gave a smaller, gentler tug on his braid before settling herself down beside him.

“Better now, I take it?” Barik joked as he moved to stand close to Karin. The way he squinted at the map concerned him.

“Shut up.” Came Carik’s reply.

Paying no heed to the dwarf she’d been treating as a glorified oxcart. She moved to lie back on the grass, arms stretched overhead and long while her toes flexed in the dirt.  Yawning, her body urged her to roll to her stomach and stretch. Pushing herself onto the grassy ground with a tired grace. Her palms pressed firmly into the earth, and then slowly, carefully, she lifted her chest and arched her spine. Lifting her sternum to the sky above, her head fell back with a small hiss as her ankle protested her movement. Teor furrowed his brows and watched silently as she moved. ‘Odd thing to do.’ He mused, but to each their own. As he was never the type to judge. Catching Barik’s eyes, he shrugged before watching the child stretch more. It seems that even being carried like a babe can prove tiresome. More soft noises escaped her lips as her thin arms shivered and trembled under her weight. The thick coat that they provided for her slipped down her shoulders and pooled around her stick-thin wrists. The first thing they had agreed upon when in town would be to get her fed. If they had enough coin between them all.

Matted tresses of tangled russet hair fell forward across her face. Slivers of fiery strands gleamed like molten copper in the light. Her small frame, as underfed and sunburnt as it looked, seemed to elongate as she made herself as comfortable as a cat lounging in the sun. Karin averted his gaze from their charge to rummage through his pack for any morsels they hadn’t dug into yet. A pang of something akin to guilt flashed upon his features. ‘No child should be that tiny. By the look of it, Farin shared the sentiment. Trying to alleviate the sudden heaviness, Farin snorts a laugh. A forced one, but it makes the tension leave from his shoulders.

Wiping the sweat that beaded along the bridge of his nose, he jeered. “Fifteen miles my arse,” he muttered.

“Language,” Teor cut in, no real bite lingering in his tone as a smile widened on his bearded lips.

“Why? She can’t even understand us. Look, as unbothered as a fly.” Pointing at where the child was stretching. She had already moved to a small patch of wildflowers that grew along the base of the nearest tree. Without a care in the world, she moved with ease. Athelas plants flourished, and bluebells plentifully sprouted from the ground in small batches. The bluebells dangled in small, delicate arcs as the blooms opened downwards towards the soil. Their purplish-blue hue was a welcome reprieve from the monotony of greens, yellows, and blues. The Athelas was a wonderful sight as well, useful as a healing herb when properly prepared. Watching silently as she kneeled. They could tell her ankle still bothered her, but not as bad as the day prior. She was murmuring to herself as she ran her fingers through their velvety petals. It was a strange mix of airy tones and vowels that paraded with sudden stops. Very perplexing and mind-boggling to the dwarves.

Barik followed her small fingers with his eyes, mirth dancing in his orbs. “She hums like my sister,” he said after a while of quiet musing. “Granted, Baris couldn’t carry a tune to save her skin, but she loved singing.”

Farin chuckled under his breath. “Aye, I remember. No time for it now. She’s got children of her own, doesn’t she? And that one’s no better. We’ll all go deaf before we reach the next town.” Gesturing towards the elfling. She stuck out her tongue once more as she happened to glance back at Farin. As if sensing a jab at her own expense.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Barik chimed dryly. He was studying the map with Karin, turning it sideways and over as if willing the distance between landmarks to grow shorter. He could tell in the way his fingers twitched that Karin ached for the use of his pipe.

The comfortable silence stretched between them like a warm blanket. Only the buzzing of small insects and the faint chirping of birds sang overhead. The breeze rolled through the land with a cooling touch. The shade provided by the looming trees grew only darker as the sun passed its zenith. Enjoying the shade and the brief respite from days of long travel on foot. The girl had begun to pick the bluebells one by one. Mixing them with sprigs of athelas, she paused as if considering whether or not they looked good together. Gathering them all up in a medium-sized bundle in her hands, she made herself comfortable at the base of the tree and began to string them together in such a way as to make a flower crown. ‘This is harder than I remembered,’ she mused, her face scrunched up in concentration as she fumbled with some ends that were picked far too short. In-between bouts of focus and moments of quiet. She lifted her gaze to settle on the group. Scanning one by one.  Just watching them. Whether to see if they were still there, to ensure that they hadn’t vanished, or to see if they were behaving, none of the dwarves could hazard a guess.  

Farin’s tenor broke the spell of comfortable quiet.  “Careful, she’ll eat those if we don’t watch her.”

The mention of food made everyone’s stomachs clench. One could only stomach so much pemmican and hardtack when it was available. Foraging was growing less and less reliable by the day the further up north they walked.

“By Aulë, she’s not that daft,” Barik muttered without looking up from the now sideways-held map. “She probably knows what’s good for her more than you do.”

“I wouldn’t bet a gold piece on that,” was Farin’s reply as the child looked to have finished one of the flower crowns. The first of many, by the look of it. It didn’t look that bad, for an elf’s work.

Looking up, she smiled when she met Karin’s gaze. Waving happily at him. She moved her arms in come-hither motions. Trying to get the black-haired dwarf to come closer. When he made no move to do so. She scowled. ‘I don’t want to get up,’ she whined to herself mentally. Breaking from her thoughts by loud rolling laughter. She frowned as she saw Teor shaking his head as if in exasperation. Motioning again with her hands, the urge to gift the leader of the small party the first flower crown rose in her chest.

{“Get over here”} the hissed words felt almost silly. But pride held her firm. If she wanted Karin to have a crown, then he would.

Tilting his head, Carin elbowed Farin at his side. “I think she means it’s for Karin first. See?” Gesturing over to the child, there already looked to be half-made crowns lying at her sides. Just waiting to be gifted.

Farin barked a teasing laugh. “Lovely. A crown of wilting weeds. Just what I’ve always wanted.”

“Not weeds, athelas and bluebells.” Supported Barik from his spot next to Karin. “Just as nice as old King Thror’s crown, eh?”

No one spoke after that. How could they?

The quiet atmosphere of their resting place turned cold.

The silence that was once so comfortable grew as stale as the grave and lingered just as ominously.

Chapter Text

                                                                                                   Memories of Home

The world passed by at a snail’s rate from that point onwards. The time for much-needed breaks had to end eventually, and with the sun continuing its slow-moving trek across the sky, so too did the dwarves march on with their unlikely charge. The rhythmic sway of Carik’s strides felt reminiscent of the times she could recall when her own father carried her the same way when she was small.

‘I miss being able to walk long distances.’ The thought came and went from her mind as quick as a flash before another stray thought took its place: ‘I miss having a car.’ The scent of artificial pine air freshener tugs at her heartstrings. A sickly-sweet longing pierced her side.

She swallowed down the ache, but it must have shown on her features, for a soft sudden weight of a palm patted her head softly. Seeing Farin’s face so focused in concern, it made the ache in her side worse. ‘He shouldn’t look so worried.’ Moving slightly to lean into the comforting touch of his palm. A gentle smile tugged at the corners of her lips. {“What’s got you so worried?”} Despite the language barrier, there was a flicker of understanding in his stern watery eyes. {“Allergies acting up?”} With the quirk of her lips, her smile turned to a smirk. Watery eyes narrowed into faux annoyance before he snorted in amusement and ruffled her head playfully. To her, though, the action felt more like being rubbed down with coarse sandpaper.

{“Damnit! Cut it out, old man! My hair is tangled enough as is!”} The lack of heat in her words made not only Farin chuckle. But Teor as well.

It wasn’t enough of a distraction to ignore the presence of the midday heat, but it was enough to lighten the mood.

A bristling hot breeze rushed past, flipping strands of tangled hair, both Carik's and her own, into her eyes. Grumbling in annoyance, the urge to whine and scream into the air bubbled in her throat. ‘I’m not a child. ‘I won’t act like one’ was her mantra. Quelling the urge to scream, she wiped her face on Carik’s shoulder. An equally childish gesture, but one less distracting or time-consuming to deal with for all parties involved. Sweat and leather filled her nose with each audible inhale. As if sensing her discomfort and subtle resolution, Carik smiled.  

Huffing a small-sounding laugh under his breath at her dramatics. "Baraz dûm gamil uzgildi gund-shal"

She could practically hear how Barik rolled his eyes. {“You better not be talking about me.”} Her soft grumble did little to dampen Carik’s sudden joviality.

"Shekh zarak kâd dhun negul khazâd."  Barik butted in. Turning round mid-step, Carik froze as Barik mimed poorly the way Carik was carrying their charge. Peering out from over Carik’s broad shoulders, his hands gently maneuvered her legs so that she could watch Barik’s folly on full display.

{“Rude.”} Scrunching up her features into a small scowl. Deep brown eyes met steely orbs. More than a little pleased with himself. Barik sent a cheeky wink back, which made her indignation burn brighter than it had in days.

Continuing the long trek to who knows where. The sound of the ground crunching beneath their boots soon filled the void of silence when words ran dry. Grass gave way to patches of uneven dirt, and the dirt, which was a deep rich brown before, changed to a dry crust of dust and small rocks. The terrain was changing slowly. Every so often, when the silence grew to be unbearable, Carik would jolt her up and down and spin around a few times just to try and get a laugh from their youngest. But after a while of walking and doing so repeatedly, the novelty wore off. Just as when he shifted his hands once more, she braced for the sudden jolt and spin. Only to be surprised when he shifted his grip to adjust her knees so that she wouldn’t slide down or get uncomfortable staying in one position for too long.

‘like the tiny seat belts on kiddie rides.’ Sighing, the weight of her head fell to rest against his shoulder blades. Tired, bored brown eyes watched as one tree went slowly by, followed by another. Behind them, Farin sniffed. The wet, gross sound was followed by a gross throat-clearing cough. If she didn’t know him and didn’t know any better, right away she would have thought him sick and riddled with disease. But it was allergies. Merciless, unforgiving allergies.

Farin sniffled again, a bit louder this time, and just as gross, as if he was trying to suck his own brains out through his large nose. ‘Do dwarves just have big noses? Or is it because I’m so small now?’ The thought made her smile. But his noises made her wrinkle her face in utter disgust. ‘This is definitely worse than pollen season back home.’

He muttered something under his breath, something that she couldn’t quite make out because it was so gravelly and wet. Barik grunted a dry-sounding reply. The words had rhythm—this much was obvious. But the language barrier was just so difficult to overcome. Some things were easy, like nouns: rock, tree, and bird. All those were easy to grasp because they were all around. But then came the struggle, which was with verbs, adverbs, adjectives, and prepositions.

{“Please… I just want to understand. Guys!”} Whining pleas fell on deaf ears.

‘God, I’m embarrassing.’ She remembered little cousins at family dinners and how cringy they were when they whined for attention. ‘I would rather die than be anything like them.’

Farin’s gross snorting and sniffling jarred her from her inner musings. ‘I miss normal grossness. human grossness. Not medieval, old-timey, mountain-man grossness.’ Shivering at the noise, the memory of the time she learned which leaves to wipe with flashed in her mind’s eye. It stuck like a burr. Teor was just as embarrassed as she was when it happened. Luckily, there was an ample supply of willow leaves in the area. Even with their help and guidance, her loneliness felt more like an empty pit that grew with each passing day.

She didn’t belong with them. These…dwarves. They carried their axes and their packs proudly. As if it was their solemn duty and birthright to do so. Their arms, so burly and thick, were thicker than her childhood track teacher’s legs. Each time Carik adjusted his hold, the more the situation felt so out of scale. It felt wrong. {“This sucks.”}

Closing her eyes halfway, lulled by the gentle sways of Carik’s strides and the low grumblings of her non-human caretakers. The smell of Carik’s sweat shifted to be less offensive over time.

‘I really do miss traffic. I miss roads. I miss signs telling me where the hell we’re going.’  As if sensing her heavy thoughts. Carik’s calloused thumbs moved to rub small circles into the muscles of her calves.

Try as he might, At the sight of their charge’s sudden change in demeanor. Farin started to hum. Sniffling as he went about doing so, every cadencing note that he trailed off ended in a mucus-phlegm-filled cough. Wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve, he scowled before starting up once again. Barik chuckled, the sound filled with a tired warmth. At the next cough from Farin, Barik took over humming. But it didn’t last long, as Karik from the front of the line barked something back.

{“I don’t suppose you all could speak English for once, right?”} she muttered dryly, knowing full well they wouldn’t understand. The sideways glance that Barik gave made it seem as though he did. And he puffed a single amused breath.

{“Smug bastard,” } she grumbled.

Allowing herself to shut her eyes for the sake of tiredness and not wanting to risk the sight of seeing Barik return an equally smug look. It felt just as tiring when her eyes were open. Just as the sun dipped lower was when the party of dwarves began speaking again. Their words were like the rumble of heavy engines. In that small moment, she imagined herself back home. Stuck somewhere on the highway in the midst of heavy traffic. The beeping of car horns and the muffled swearing of a driver three cars back.

‘I don’t belong here.’

Her heart ached at the thought.

‘But they’re the only ones who know I exist.’

It was an honest feeling. A deeply rooted sensation that felt as true as the fact that the sun would rise each day.

Her eyes cracked open as she felt a hot tear slide down her cheek. At that same moment the sun dipped behind a cloud and reemerged to temporarily blind her. Groaning in discomfort, Carik angled his head at the sudden soft sound. The rhythmic bounce of his sturdy gait reminded her of her father. How when she was little, he would carry her on her shoulders and run screaming through the sprinklers in the backyard. It was safe there. But here, lost in the wilds, safety was a luxury.

‘Now I’m stuck here as the wrong species in the wrong century.’

She swallowed hard as another tear slid down her cheek.

‘I just want my life back.’  

The scariest part was the dwarves didn’t complain. If they did, she didn’t understand it. They endured each mile as if there was something so much worse waiting for them if they stopped. That alone was terrifying.

In the movies, kids scream and end up getting saved. In real life, what happens?

She didn’t know, and she didn’t want to know. This wasn’t a movie; this wasn’t a piece of fiction…this is real. ‘I’m a missing person.’ An eventual memory her parents would move on from. ‘Did Mom call the cops?’ It made her stomach twist into painful knots. ‘Did Dad go looking for me?’  He was a stubborn man. A good man, but stubborn as all hell.

These tired men weren’t her guardians. Not her family, not her closest friends. They just happened to be at the right place at the right time. Or, at the wrong place at the wrong time.

{“I’m sorry,” } she whispered.

Carik only hummed in reply.

No one here would know what a person from the twenty-first century is worth. She couldn’t fathom a guess either. Worthless, probably. No good in survival situations. She had never needed to hunt or kill anything. Never chopped wood, never had to boil water to be able to drink it safely. Used to the comforts of home and being comfortable. Not having three square meals a day was hard; not having snacks was hard. Everything was hard. ‘Carik’s back is hard too. I miss frozen food.’  Wiping stray tears on his broad back, the scratchy wool and soft-worn leather against the skin of her face were the only sources of comfort she could find in that moment. It irritated her skin, but it was the closest thing to a pillow that she could get.

Perhaps that was why she kept crying.

 She missed modern convenience more than home.

Guilt made her stomach twist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Baraz dûm gamil uzgildi gund-shal"—Poor lass is grumpy today.

"Shekh zarak kâd dhun negul khazâd."  - She's grumpy because you're holding her wrong.