A Single Dream is More Powerful Than a Thousand Realities

Slip, Slide and Thunder Battles

Something wet was tickling Lyla's nose. Annoying thing it was really. She grumbled and swatted at her face.

Drip.

Blast it all! What was that?

Grumpily, she opened one eye. And was splashed by a water droplet for the effort.

Of course it would start raining.

Heaving herself to her feet, her joints stiff from the earlier bout of weapons practice, she noted that it was still mostly dark, but everyone was on their feet and collecting the supplies. They couldn't sleep through the impending downpour (if the dark billowing clouds were any indication) so it was prudent to either continue the journey or find shelter.
She didn't need Thorin Oakenshield's shout to move on to know which they'd be doing. She'd been in the company long enough to recognize an impatient dwarf when she saw one.

And Thorin was the epitome of impatient. And hot headed...

And he was pointedly ignoring her.

Which rubbed Lyla the wrong way if she was being honest. True she wasn't the most battle ready member of the company but just because she wasn't as skilled as the other didn't give that pigheaded grumpy sod the right to gruffly mistreat her. And with their sparring match Lyla found herself even more confused by the Dwarf king. His actions and emotions seemed to flit back and forth to the point where her head ached just trying to deduce his true character.

Well, there was nothing for it really. She was certain all her worrying would do is give her a headache. And why should she care whether or not the dwarf even remotely cared a little for her? She wasn't so selfish and proud to expect to acquire everyone's good opinion was she?

With a sigh she stuffed her now sopping bedroll in her pack and donned the cloak Dwalin lent her (cleaned of blood and stitched up nicely) and hefted the pack onto her shoulders. She needed to focus on other things instead of the dwarf who was adjusting his sword around his waist, his dark hair dripping down his shoulders in soft waves and the way his shirt clung to his broad chest because he'd forgotten to put on his coat...

'Stop it Lyla'

She felt the heat on her neck and drew her eyes away from the company's leader. How absurd that she should admire that over-zealous dwarf!
But he was handsome...

Bah! Stop it!

**************************************************

Six hours of slogging through muddy and rocky terrain and the entire company was grumbling in annoyance and frustration. Tempers were running high and Lyla knew better than to attempt conversation with anyone. Barring Bofur of course. That dwarf never seemed ruffled by any inconvenience and cheerfully whistled a tune as he lent a hand to Lyla, who had slipped on the steep incline, the frigid water running down her back.

"Careful there master Baggins! Wouldn't want to take a little tumble, aye?" Bofur chuckled.

Lyla did NOT share his sentiment. That LITTLE tumble, had it happened, would have sent the hobbit careening into the darkness below...far below...

Little tumble indeed.

Still Lyla was grateful and mumbled her appreciation accordingly. But for the most part she remained silent, determined to keep her footing in this muddy, slick terrain that her hobbit feet for so unused to. She observed how the dwarves moved, carefully, sure-footed, and she envied their ease in navigating rocky terrain, rain or shine. No, her feet were far more suited for woodlands and small dirt paths leading to her smial where a nice warm cup of tea, her armchair, a cozy blanket and a good book would be most welcome-