Time to Shine

Chapter 12- Tis But a Scratch

All characters belong to Tolkien. Thank you to the genetically blessed men and women and to their parents and also for P. Jackson's brainchild trilogies of epicness.

OCs and level 6 tragic backstory belong to me.
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Chapter 12- Tis But A Scratch

"If I'm not mistaken, I don't think bushes are the growling type," I whisper to Ori, whose slingshot is set to release a pebble of whup-ass on the bush.

Thorin gives the signal for Bofur to prod at it, which in my opinion is stupid but necessary. When the prodding commences a small snuffle is heard, then followed by a pained whine. My neglected maternal instincts kicked in and before you could say 'Mines of Moria!!' I dove in like a supermom and grabbed the poor thing stuffing it underneath my jacket before the dwarves could kill it.

The dwarves were understandably unhappy, so was Bilbo, and even Gandalf looked ready to smack me with his staff.

"Miss Edgewater," Thorin said with a clenched jaw, "Do not under any circumstances do that again, I will not have you endanger my men and the burglar with you reckless antics! Do I make myself clear?" Gripping my arms tightly around the bundle, I nod. Just then a small growl emits from underneath my jacket, causing Thorin's face to tighten in confusion. Before he could question it Bilbo made his entrance. Poor Thorin, he's always being interrupted.

"Aria!! What in Arda were you thinking?!? It could have been a Barrow-wight!! Or an orc or," he gestures wildly, "even a warg!!" he shrieks loud enough for even Oin, Oin!, to cringe.

"I'm sorry," I begin, "but- OWW!! This THING just nipped me!!" Shaking my barely injured hand, I see a blot of blood on it, black blood.
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Before you all start saying, "Oh my looooord!! I KNEW she was an Orc wearing a girl-skin!!" Hang on for a few more sentences.

Hello.

I'm dead now.

Give my journal to Bilbo. Give my sketchbook and Sharpies to Ori. Give my pocket microscope to Oin. Give my craisins to Bombur. Spread my ashes around the Carrock. Give the Bardlings my eternal love.

Scratch that, I'm alive...for now. Although...I...might just have possibly saved a baby orc or warg pup's life...well...it does has a horrid stench and I feel some matted fur...so the latter, most definitely.

I recall orcs being ugly but not furry-footed ugly, no offense Bilbo, especially when four massive are paws trying to get a firm footing on my ribs. Oh dear, that is going to bruise. I'm like a peach. I'm so gonna die before Rivendell.
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Thorin whips his head around so fast that hair flutters across his broad shoulders in a Loreàl worthy arc.

"What is that under your coat?!?"

My immediate reaction is to drop what I'm holding, then I remember it's just a little guy, the warg pup not Thorin.

"Umm...*cough*...my stomach?" I say weakly, sadly I begin choking on my spit when I failed to fake a cough. I stop walking towards the ponies and veer off to a nearby tree to hack out my lungs.

He glances at the blood dripping off the tip of my finger. His stormy gaze locks onto mine, instantly turning to ice. Uh oh, his bullshit detector just broke. In two quick strides he rips away my arms (not literally) and tugs open my coat (excuse you sir, I am a lady) and grabs the vulnerable pup by the scruff.

I admit that it's as adorable as it is ugly. Its jaw is bigger than its head, it has a hump-like neck, and looks to be around one to two months old.