[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hænir had eaten some gamey things in his day, but the taste of Warg was one he was not likely to forget. He had thought that days of walking through a dangerous, insect infested jungle on short rations would have rendered him ready to eat just about anything, but the vile taste of the beast that Bali had brought down was almost more than he could bear. Still, in the end his hunger overcame his repugnance and he found himself gobbling down slice after slice of the beast.

The food went some way to repairing his mood, but still the anger and anxiety that seethed within him raged. He was not sure what or who, precisely, he was angry at. For days he had directed his rage at Bali, assuming that the discontent he felt was the result of poor leadership. But recent events had forced him to confront the very difficult fact that Bali was, indeed, a capable and competent Dwarf, fully in charge of himself and the situation. He had not panicked as had the others when the snake bit Dwalin; he had kept his head level when Gortek went over the cliff, and that had been a fine piece of fighting with the warg. Even Bali’s obstinate refusal to confront openly the truth of the fact that they were being stalked by the mysterious denizens of this land had some sense in it. Hænir did not agree with the decision to keep quiet about their danger, but he respected Bali’s right to decide that.

Hænir tore off another tough hunk of meat and chewed it contemplatively as he pursued his elusive thoughts. His unease had been growing ever since they had come out of the mountains. It was not the thought of their danger – which was real – for he had spent a lifetime preparing for adventures such as these, and he had been through worse (well, just as bad). He heard Nerin grumble about the insects, and his eye fell upon the sullen aspects of the other Dwarves. Like the flash of gold suddenly chipped free by the pick he understood that his temper had been roused not by Bali’s lack of leadership – for there had been no lack of leading, on the contrary, sometimes there had been more than enough leading for Hænir’s tastes – but by the company’s inability to cohere into the type of tightly-knit group that he had spent his life amongst. A sudden, overwhelming longing for the King’s Companions came over him, but he was hundreds of leagues from them now.

A shift in the wind brought an odd scent to Hænir and he froze, the better to catch it. It was an odd scent, one he had never encountered before, and it quickly vanished, as though the animal had sensed that the wind had come round. Only predators kept downwind of what they were following. Making as casual a show of it as possible, Hænir got up and, taking his axe in hand, said that he was going for more firewood. He leaned down to speak with Bali, quickly whispering that he should come. Bali was surprised, and was about to protest that he could not come as his foot was still paining him terribly, but seeing the glint in Hænir’s eye, he dropped his meat and joined him.

As they disappeared into the woods, Hænir quietly explained the scent he had picked up and indicated the direction it had come from. They pressed ahead into the woods, Bali wincing with each step but determined not to let Hænir see his discomfort, their axes at the ready. They passed through a screen of brush and into a small clearing. They both instantly saw the tracks of several people about, as well as signs that someone had lain on the ground as though in hiding. The signs were so fresh that some of the grass was still unbending from the sudden release of a person’s weight. Immediately, the Dwarves’ axes were up and prepared. Bali was the first to speak. “It is as I feared, we are being followed.”

“Aye,” growled Hænir, “and we have been for some days now.” He did not mention the falling tree, nor did he need to, for Bali understood him. “Where do you think they’ve gone?”

Bali shrugged and looked about. “I don’t know. The tracks are confusing.”

“Well, whoever they are, I just wish that they would attack and be done with it!”

Bali looked squarely at Hænir. “You would not wish so if it were to happen. We are in no shape to hold off a sustained attack of any kind, much less so now than ever we were when the orcs came upon us.” He saw Hænir flinch at the memory, and recalled the shame Hænir still felt at having left Durin and Dwalin behind. “I know that the memory galls you – I am afraid, Hænir, that you have become far too incautious because of it. Just because you were unable single-handedly to defeat the orcs, don’t look now to throw away your life in a hopeless battle simply to prove to yourself that you are not a coward.”

Hænir’s eyes shifted away from Bali’s as his face flushed red beneath his beard. Until this moment, he had not realized this about himself – and his respect for their leader went up once more. “Well,” he said roughly, to cover his emotion, “I do not think there will be any fight this day; whoever is stalking us has apparently decided to keep in hiding for now. Let us rejoin the others.” They turned and headed back to the camp. As they were nearing the others, a branch fell from above them and they only were just able to leap aside as is crashed through the brush. A quick examination revealed only that the branch was healthy and had no reason to fall, but there was no indication that it had been acted upon by anyone. Still, Hænir and Bali exchanged knowing looks before hurrying back to join their companions.