[b] Balin [b]
The elvish circle broke before the dwarves as they rushed into the depths of the forest, leaving bruised and unconscious elves in their wake. Balin turned, and shouted, “Tell your flower crowned King Thranduil that’s thanks for the last time the dwarves passed through his dreary forest!” With a loud laugh, he turned and followed the dwarves through the forest. “Slow it down, lads!” he called. “Old Mirkwood has a knack at taking the strength out of one. Besides, wouldn’t want this to look like a retreat when we beat them fair and square, but they’ll probably say they won.”
Taking his place at the head of the column, besides Ori, Floria, and Alrik, Balin said, “There, Flori, I told you I wouldn’t create trouble.” He flashed them a smug smile and then broke out into a dwarvish marching tune.
They tramped through the forest for several days, passing as quickly as they could underneath the murky darkness. At night, there were always two dwarves on guard, though they only saw glowing green eyes flicker and glow in the darkness. On the third day, when they saw thick, sticky spider strands clinging languidly to the rough bark. Balin shuddered and eyed Ori and Oin nervously. They merrily buttoned their lips and increased the pace.
He once thought he saw a slim, slightly glowing body, vanish between the trees, but he couldn’t be sure. He narrowed his eyes and stroked his beard, but then decided that the elf, if that is what it was, was nothing. He could not bring them all single handedly to Thranduil’s halls.
Suddenly, Balin paused and said, “I thought that we’d be through the forest by now.” Behind him, Mali gave a satisfied snort.
“In other words, we’re lost,” Ori said with a sigh.
Balin bit his lip, peered up into the branches and said, “Yes we are.”
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