Faikar - LotR

CHAPTER TEN

The fire had nearly gone out by the time she made her way back to camp, evidenced by the little lumps of hobbit that seemed to have gravitated closer to the fire pit and meshed together to create one giant ball of shivering Halfling.

It was a colder night, though not unusual for this time of year. Her footsteps were completely silent as she traversed through the maze of bodies to the pile of wood near the campfire. Gently, the woman lifted pieces of bark and dried branches into the pit of embers before sending her senses out.

Deep slow breaths, steady heartbeats, and the soft murmur of sleepy mumbles were all that came back to her. Even the elf in his waking dream would not rise so soon.

With a last cursory glance around the slumbering company, Nárhína stretched her hand out toward the piles of ash and new wood and with a small twitch of her wrist, bright orange fire erupted with a hiss. Fingers twisted, flames weaving with the motion as she poured enough power into the writhing heat to last the rest of the night.

She checked again to make sure none had seen the small display but all was well. She hoped that by the time Aragorn was done with his shift, the young Masters would be warmer. And speaking of, she trailed her eyes over the covered bodies, listening intently to the tone of breaths that puffed white into the air. She heard him toward the outer edge of the circle opposite her and she pulled her cloak tight around her as she stepped to him.

He was nearly completely covered, his shaggy black hair the only thing left outside of his cloak. She moved down to his feet and knelt down, grabbing onto his boot. The slight pressure would be enough to wake him and she was out of range for any sort of startled retaliation. Thankfully, he came awake calmly and quickly, swinging up onto his heels in front of her, silent.

His fingers moved quickly in the low light given off by the fire but she saw easily and understood.

Report.

All clear, her gloved hands signed back. His eyes circled around the sleeping fellowship before lighting on the steadily burning fire. They narrowed before turning to her.

Natural or yours?

Gimli's, her fingers motioned.

His features twisted into a look she knew well. He accompanied it with a gesture that told her precisely what he thought about her attempt at joking.

White flashed in a toothy grin. And such attitude, unbecoming for one of your age.

Dark brows shot high, the incredulous look on his face doing absolutely nothing to stifle her humor. My age, he signed, mock outrage evident.

Fear not, she smiled, for though you are old to others, you are considered a mere babe to some.

Nárhína left him, silently grumbling, and made her way out of the tiny encampment and into the wooded area where she spent her watch.

Thick trunks surrounded her, branches extending and reaching, layering like fingers clasping in the night, the small orange glow from the fire barely visible through their knitted boughs. Without wasting any more time, the woman stopped at the base of a towering evergreen and jumped with arms outstretched, effortlessly pulling herself onto the thick limb. She continued weaving through, up and over as she climbed higher in the tree before stopping nearly halfway. Nárhína left her swords as they were, crossing her back as she sat down, the trunk behind her. There was a smaller thinner branch beside her that she leaned on, thankfully not having to worry about falling or tipping over in her state of rest.

Finally, she thought, sighing in exhaustion.

It wasn't her body that was fatigued, she could go many days and nights without actual sleep and still function properly; it was her mind that could not cope this time.