[Nurumaiel]

Falco crouched behind the tall rock, breathing as softly as he could and listening to the noises. His previous good feelings at the warm welcomes given to him were now replaced, at least partially, by a feeling of resentment that nobody had paid much attention to him when they made their plans concerning the Big Folk. He was not so foolish as to think they should keep on welcoming him back when danger was near, but he did not like the fact that they had forgotten, or maybe even never realised, that his legs were in no condition to be doing much running and hiding. When the others had all scattered about, he had limped painfully about, looking for somewhere he might hide, as he knew it would be useless to try to help them, unless he wanted to get himself killed and risk the lives of his friends. He had found the rock, and ducked behind it, but wondered nervously what would happen if one of the Big Folk came around it and saw him.

He had heard the strange snarling, and it had not taken him long to realise that there were wolves about. His position behind the rock, he realised, was now useless. Wouldn't they smell him out? He had to find a place where he could be hidden from the Big Folk, but out of reach of the wolves. He began to feel, for the first time on their adventure, frightened. It was not the thought of wolves and Big Folk that frightened him, though that thought was slightly disturbing. Falco was a bold, and slightly reckless lad. But it was the thought that there were wolves and Big Folk about, and that he could not run from them, that struck a chill of fear into his heart.

He heard the tread of feet on the other side of the rock, and realised right away that it was not the light skip of hobbit feet, nor the clumsy stamping of the Big Folk, but the stealthy, pattering tread of a wolf. He had previously consider making his way to a tree and pulling himself up onto it, but that was now out of the question. He looked desperately around, and at last up, and saw the top of the rock he hid underneath. He got softly to his feet, and studied the rock face. It was not sheer, but it was steep enough that a wolf might not be able to follow him up... and steep enough to provide a challenge to climb it, as his legs were sore and aching, and his whole body was rather faint and limp.

Nevertheless, he must climb it for his life, and climb it he would. He found a foothold, a ledge to grasp, and he began to slowly pull himself up. His weak arms rebelled against the strain put on them, his feet against the climbing, but he ignored them. He could hear the panting of the wolf now, and was assured that it was growing closer. For a moment he was tempted to scramble wildly up, despite that he might slip and fall and lose himself altogether, but he recalled something his older brother had told him once and it steadied him. Wolves, he had said, weren't the kind of fellows who ran about eating up little hobbits just for the fun of it. They were rather shy of people, and wouldn't want to go attack and eat one unless they were terribly hungry. Falco drew a little, quiet breath, and continued his steady pace up the rock.

Over the edge and onto the surface he climbed, and looked down. A wolf passed softly by him, lifted its head to look up at him intently for a moment, and then, after that pause, tread on. Falco drew a very deep breath, not caring how loud it was, and began to move towards the center of the rock. He had finished the escaping bit. Now he must hide.