[Firefoot]

Sondo was startled out of a deep reverie by the voice in the darkness. He had not been able to fall asleep, and so had been contemplating their situation. Every time he ran through possible scenarios the forest seemed blacker and their position more hopeless. He was the leader; he had to get them out of this. Somehow. He was not accustomed to such real fear and did not know how to cope with it, though he knew he couldn’t let it show through to the group. So he was grateful for the interruption.

“Bingo? Is that you?” Sondo asked quietly.

“Yes.” Sondo could almost hear the pain in Bingo’s voice. Sondo got up and walked over to the other side of their small fire where Bingo had set up his bedroll.

“What happened?” he asked.

“When we fell down here, I think I must have broken my rib. Hurts to move, and to breathe.” Bingo’s breathing was shallow and his sentences disconnected. Sondo tried to keep the wince off his face. Sure sounds like a broken rib. He should’ve said something about it earlier - he probably made it worse by walking on it so far. Of all the injuries one of the hobbits could have gotten, this had to be one of the worst. A broken arm or leg could be splinted, a sprain could be wrapped (the pain and swelling in his own wrist had quickly gone down), cuts and such could be wrapped. But a broken rib? His oldest brother Longo had broken a rib some years back by falling out of a tree. His Ma had prescribed bed rest for quite a while. All you could do for a broken rib was hope it fixed itself pretty quick.

“You’ve been trying to wrap it?” asked Marroc. Rory was there, too. They probably couldn’t sleep either, so of course they would have heard us, he reasoned. Sondo caught sight of the shirt lying nearby that had caused the comment.

Bingo nodded. “I couldn’t - hurt too much.”

“Well, I suppose we could help with that,” offered Sondo. He was glad he wasn’t the only other one awake down here - he hoped that one of the others knew more about medicines and such than he did.