[Orual]

They had been on the move for a long while, many days, and the mood had grown dark. Anson gloomily poked at the dying fire with a stick, for his was the first watch. Wolves howled in the distance, sending chills down his spine.

"Should've never left Hobbiton," he muttered to himself, giving the fire a fierce jab. Peony turned over in her sleep, but no one woke. Anson sighed. He looked to the east, to where Rivendell would hopefully soon appear on the horizon. A place of rest, finally. Cold rocks and sharp roots were survivable, if it was all that was available, but a mattress and a pillow would be welcome.

"Tomorrow we'll arrive at Imladris," Andunériel had said, after Anson had asked her how much longer this leg of the journey would last.

"We'll have to leave as soon as we can," Anson had replied. "We can't afford more than a day, much as we'd all like to."

The embers were now glowing warmly, but warm was not the word for their campsite any longer. His watch was almost over, but that did not comfort him. Far from home, very little would.

At least Rivendell was close. And hopefully closer than those wolves.