Book 2: Hanging On [Thorin Oakenshield]

Chapter 2

Dawn broke over the horizon when the Half-breed's eyes fluttered open. As the first one awake, Poppy stood quietly to make her way through the Dwarves scattered about the home. At a back window to the home, she spotted a pond beside a well just outside. Biting her lip in thought a hand reached up to absently scratch at the bandage. It irritated her more as the days passed, wishing to be rid of it in order to see properly again. Poppy didn't care that the scar would show. She just wanted this cloth to be gone. The young woman finally made a decision to slip out the back door unseen. She wasn't concerned for the bear that chased them, taking the bucket and lowering it into the well. It felt refreshing to unwrap the bandage and allow the skin to breathe. But what made Poppy sigh in relief was cupping the cool water in hand enabling it to run over the damaged skin.

A noise from behind made her turn watching as a rather tall man came around the house carrying an ax in one hand. His eyes flickered to Poppy, stopping abruptly to stare. A snarl escaped his lips, grip tightening on the weapon.

"Who are you?" he gruffly asked.

"Poppy Baggins." The young woman didn't take him to be a patient person, and didn't beat around the bush with her answers.

"What are you?"

"Half-breed."

His bushy brows furrowed. "Half-breed?"

"Mother was a Hobbit, father a Man." His grip seemed to slacken on the ax. "Are you Beorn?"

"I am."

"Thank you for lending your home." She bowed slightly in thanks.

"At least you have manners," he muttered. A smile was his answer as she stood once more. "What happened to your face?"

Poppy noticed her reflection in the water of the pond when pulling up the bucket, needing to stop for a moment to take it all in. The downswing of Azog's blade left a wide mark on the forehead dragging over the eyebrow, where some hair was missing from the gash. It evaded the eye completely, before hitting the top of the cheekbone and ending to a jagged point near the jawline. It wasn't a straight cut, some edges appearing like a cracking surface from how roughly the skin pulled apart and the position of the forehead gap sat offset from the one sported on the cheek.

"Orcs." His eyes hardened at the answer. "I was protecting a friend."

Beorn moved to rest the ax up against a tree stump before disappearing around the house. The young woman's brows pinched in confusion, unsure what he was doing. When the host returned with a handful of flowers and weeds, he grabbed a bowl and a hand roller. Standing beside her at the well, the stone bowl was dipped inside the bucket to fill the bottom with water before throwing in the plants and crushing them with the blunt end of the roller. It wasn't long until it began turning into a paste.

"The supplies you have been using have not been right to treat that wound," Beorn said.

"I have little to go off of since the attack," Poppy said.

He handed over the bowl once done, which felt heavy in her hands.

"Spread this on the mark. It will turn numb, but do not worry. This will help heal it much faster and allow the mark to fade in color."

"I trust you," she answered.

With a grunt, Beorn turned and picked back up the ax. Finally setting to work and chopping up thick cuts of wood. The paste was brown in color as Poppy used the pond's reflection for guidance. Washing her hands in the bucket she then cleaned it so the host would not have to worry about it being dirty before taking a seat on a log near the chopping stump.