The Moon Druid of Arcedia; And the One Ring to Rule Them All

~05 Muddy Feet and the Morgul Blade~

~Muddy Feet and the Morgul Blade~

It had been near the end of their third week of travel that they neared the Tower of Amon Sûl on Weather-top Hill. Ahshala and Strider had discussed at length whether they should stay near the ruins of the great watchtower. They had decided that the clear vantage over the valley would be to them a great benefit so long as they lit no fires as to remain unseen.

Along the path to the tower sat a familiar hollow in the rocks. Ahshala recognized it to be the very same hollow in which Kili had ruined her potatoes. The alcove would shield the party from the pouring rain and provide a well-needed vantage as one could see over the entire valley.

"We will rest here for the night," said Aragorn as his gaze drifted to the South Downs. A collection of hills and plains covered in beautiful wildflowers enjoying their final breath under the autumn moon.

When Ahshala and Stopped the four muddied hobbits collapsed, exhausted and hungry from the long day's travel. Strider turned to Bill and rifled through a bag that contained a tick-bound leather roll Gandalf had given them. As he unraveled it he tossed the sheathed short swords to each hobbit.

"These are for you," he instructed as they marveled at the weapons in their hands "Keep them close. We're going to have a look around." He said as he gestured to his female companion. He stood and walked toward the top of the hill.

"Please just stay here and rest," Ahshala instructed, as she held her hand outward to emphasize her command. Her gaze shifted toward the Brandybuck and Took who were still examining the swords.

"And don't do anything stupid," she added with a sigh before she walked up the hill.

Finally, in the safety of a thicket of snow-dusted pines, Ahshala stopped her march and shook out her aching limbs. She took a deep breath and then emptied her lungs. As she stood still she swore she heard the ring of metal and the crackling of a fire in the distance. It was a momentary thought, she had other matters pressing into her mind. Every muscle in her body and every bone desired to change, to morph, to break. She couldn't move without feeling the shouts of her skin threatening to rip off. Strider had noticed, he always noticed. In their travels this "itch" as they called it had become more frequent. She was lucky she had made it two weeks before needing to bow down to its demands. He had let her step away, find a covered spot to transform and for that she was grateful.

At last, she relented and allowed her form to make its desired change. A sharp pain ran through her limbs and a grisly crack echoed through the trees. Her arms and legs broke and reformed into a new form. Ahshala let out a small cry as her hips shifted up her spine. She flung herself back into the tree behind her as her feet transformed into clawed paws. The pain began to soften to a dull ache once she took the full beastly form. She was quite thankful that the harvest moon was waxing. Her lady always ensured a less painful transformation under the light of the moon.

Ahshala curled into herself, the thin taupe tail covering her whiskered snout until she no longer felt the pain nor the heaviness in her chest. Life was simple.

She smelt the cooking of tomatoes and bacon and heard the crackling of fire as she lay still and silent on the cold forest floor. Her body hungered at the thought of fresh meat. She could practically taste the iron on her tongue. Lazily, she stretched and shook out her fury limbs and spine in an attempt to remove the thought from her mind.

Like most druids, she would feel some of the animalistic urges of the form she took. It was why she never took the form of the horse, it was a horrid feeling as if every blade of grass desired your downfall. Now as a predatory cat, she could feel the urge to fill her stomach. She was also very interested in a long nap.