The sun had fallen beneath the far hills, and the twilight became thick. Aragorn turned and spoke to the company of rangers. “We will rest in this glade tonight. Gilsarag, take the hobbit and lay him on the ground.” Gilsarag did so, and the other rangers began to set up camp.
The hobbit lay sleeping under a spare cloak. The encroaching darkness lay still. In his dreams, the hobbit could see the events of the previous night. The cave. He could see a shadowy creature slowly prepare to pounce. He could remember that he cried out, but the other hobbits had not been able to drive it back. Thrashing, screaming, and the awful stench of blood was all he remembered. Except for one thing… the blood-curdling sound of a rapier claw tearing through flesh. Then he saw it. The face of the creature that had killed his family looked at him thoughtfully. It seemed strange to him that such a senseless killer could have a look of solemn intelligence. Then it reached out it’s claw toward his face and with one swipe cut deep into his cheek, sending his small head crashing into the rock wall behind him. Quickly the dream dissolved and he awoke with a terrible start.
Before him he could see many tall men sleeping on the wet ground. He turned his head to see a man looking out into the darkness, and smoke rose from a pipe that the ranger held between his lips, supported by a gloved hand. Cautiously he crept up to him. The man spoke. “It appears you are awake.” The hobbit said no word. The ranger drew the pipe away from his lips and turned to look at the hobbit.
“What is your name?” He asked. “Can you remember it?”
The hobbit nervously began to speak. “…No, no. I can’t remember…”