Boggins, not Baggins. {A Kili love story}

Chapter 14: Bread, Butter, and Marmalade.

The only light in  the cramped stable came from the moon, and occasionally, Gandalf's staff.

A few of the dwarves had attempted to stay awake for the sake of their wagers, but passed out form exhaustion. In truth, everyone had been falling asleep in their saddles, and it only got worse after they lost the ponies. In their dreams they thought of small things, no body save for Bilbo thought he would miss. A freshly poured tankard of ale by a pretty barmaid, or 'Derbyshire-leaf' in their pipes. Thorin woke late in the night chasing after the taste of oat cakes.

In the dead of night, these dreams brought peace, and filled every company member with warmth. 

At some point, around twilight, the latch-lock was gently lifted on the door, and in stumbled and battered and bloody ranger. Her shadow cast over the sleeping form of the young dwarf she loved.

He dreamt of a peaceful life, working in the forge in Erebor, and returning to his cottage where his wife, and children awaited his return. He could smell roast cooking, and hear the giggles of small children. 

How much Saraen wanted to collapse at his side, and fall into the same slumber she could not say, but not yet possible. Firstly, she smelled atrocious, (when that beast last bathed I had no idea). Secondly, it would be breakfast in a few hours, and somebody has to make it.

The woman stepped back, and stumbled, nearly tripping over Dwalin. He merely grunted and rolled onto his stomach, apparently not noticing that he had just taken a boot to the rump. 
Carefully, Saraen lifted the latch on the door once more and crept into the field silently. There were no more deadly roars, only birds. And the night had passed as well, letting the sunrise take-over. 

Not far from the small cottage a babbling brook could be found running in between the long-grass fields and the forest. Saraen strained her eyes against the dawn, taking a deep breath of the cool, night air. 

The beast from earlier had turned out to be not quite what she had expected. But to be honest, she didn't know really what to expect. 

Near the stream bank was a tall oak tree in which she had climbed into a few hours before; deep slashes now marked the trunk of the once beautiful tree. 

Saraen's woolen trousers were sinched on her hips tightly, but the legs were loose and fell around her bare feet as she kicked off her boots. Carefully the woman removed her cloak and armour, leaving just her chest bind on. With one arm she strained to unwrap it, for the right arm was to stiff to move. Luckily, the mark left by the arrow had begun to scab cleanly, and with a special poultice she kept in her saddlebags, her shoulder would be right as rain. 

A powerful gust of wind blew past, chilling her to the bone, as she attempted to reach the knot in the back. A sudden, more-powerful wind knocked her off balance, and she stumbled back, stepping the hem of her pant leg, sending her crashing backward into the icy water. 

"EEPS", she squealed.

In the oak tree beside her a pair of swallows took off into the night. 

"Aww bugger."

The water rushed around her, soaking every inch of her. She tried to stand, but came crashing back down when the rocks below slipped out from beneath her. Saraen attempted to right herself once more, this time, she managed a firm grip on the bank. With one arm she pulled herself up, and threw her weight onto the grass.

Out of breath she wheezed, "I've never felt so out of shape."

After a serious bought of hacking up water, she grabbed blindly for her cloak to dry herself.  
More wind blew past her bare skin, and she shivered as she pushed off from the ground.