✓GLITTER AND GOLD⁰ ━ the hobbit

eight.

07. | SKIN-CHANGER

My eyes blink open, unadjusted to the sudden sunlight as I peer up at the grey-blue sky above me. I am in some sort of clearing, draped over Thorin's back for some reason — I begin to twitch, eager to get down. 

I kick him, my head swiveling in confusion, and he jumps three feet, as I tumble out of his arms clumsily. "You're awake." He smiles as much as Thorin can ever smile, but his eyes are warm for once."How do you feel?"

"Like I was just dumped onto the floor, idiot." I groan, pushing myself onto my knees so that I am sitting. My stomach is swaddled with leaves and cloth, as if to make some sort of bandage — but strangely, I feel no pain. "Why?"

He grimaces, looking down as Balin grins in amusement. "Apologies."

"What's going on?" I ask, looking around. I don't recognise this place — and the dwarves seem exhausted, dark circles below their eyes and slouched backs. 

Gandalf smiles, glad to see me, evidently. Even he seems tired, his body forced into an almost permanent sigh. "You've merely been unconscious, my dear."

I frown, scratching my head. It doesn't seem that way — in fact, I feel as though I've just had a refreshing nap. "For how long?"

"Just a few days," Oin says casually, smiling at me. 

My mouth drops open, as I push myself onto my feet, pumped with energy as I bounce on my toes. "Days?"

"Shh!" Dori hisses, looking behind him worriedly. What is he afraid of?

"What's going on?" I ask, and none of the dwarves speak. I pull up my tunic, my hands reaching for the binding that is irritating my skin. 

Thorin's hand slaps mine away roughly as he glares at me. "What are you doing?"

"Unwrapping it," I whisper, raising an eyebrow at him. Gandalf rolls his eyes, sighing and turning away, mumbling to himself. 

"What are you doing?" Thorin hisses, trying to pull my hands away — I aim a harsh kick at his knees; he flinches away, glaring at me. "You can't be that stupid."

"No," I grin, my body coursing with energy. "I really am that stupid." Pulling the bandage off, and instead of a shallow slice where the cut should be, there is nothing. My skin is completely clear; not even a scar. As if I were never scratched at all. "See?"

The dwarves' mouths drop open. "Witchcraft?" Oin asks, poking my stomach. I drop my tunic to stop them staring. I am equally confused, but I don't really care at the moment. Everything feels perfect; even Gandalf seems pleased — 

"Bilbo!" I remember suddenly,  my eyes widening in guilt as I remember my friend, the one I'd forgotten about. "Where's Bilbo?"

"I'm here," a tired voice speaks, hardened with exhaustion. I turn, to see Bilbo standing behind me, his cloak and pack dust-speckled and his face weary. What the hell happened? 

"How close is the pack?" Dwalin steps forward, concern flashing across his face. Pack? The wargs? I thought we'd lost them with the eagles — they're still after us?

Typical.

"Too close. A couple of leagues, no more, but that is not the worst of it." Bilbo says, gasping slightly. He catches sight of me; nodding as I grimace at him, wondering what could be worse than wargs. 

"Have the wargs picked up our scent?" Dwalin interrupts between Bilbo's breaths.

"Not yet, but they will. We have another problem —"