A lovely stretch of limbs is good for the soul, thought Sivan, daughter of Ruben, as she lay back on a bank of soft grass. Her curled hair, a dark and vibrant red, gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, recently cleaned of the grease, sweat and dirt that had been caked there from her recent adventure.

A quiet sigh. She closed her eyes, listening to the wind and the chatter of nearby Hobbits. "This is a grand place, Ferin," she called out with a lilting voice. "Come and sit with me. It's so relaxing."

A damp, heavily scarred dog trotted by on the dirt path that travelled through Hobbiton near the marketplace. She was followed avidly by several Hobbit children, hands outstretched in an attempt to catch her. Nearby adults chuckled or got on with selling their wares to passers by. Ears flat back against her head and tail lowered slightly, Ferin the dog sent a glance towards her companion. 'I would, but I'm being hounded by children, if you haven't noticed.' The dog turned, slipped through grabbing fingers and trotted the opposite way. 'A little help would be appreciated.'

Sivan chuckled, reaching out to reassure herself that her staff was nearby. Hobbiton was a peaceful place, but she knew from experience that that could change. Smiling contently, she turned her face towards the heat of the sun. "Ah don't be so unkind. They only want to play."

Ferin picked up her pace to a steady lope. She had endured weeks of the young woman's company, and had bathed at her insistence ("Hobbiton is a very clean and friendly place, Ferin! If you must act like a dog, the least you can do is not smell like one!"), but playing with the little Halflings was beyond her energy and patience today. Her bones ached, her muscles cried out for a rest, and the pads of her paws stung with cracks and splits from travelling over rough terrain. She wanted food and rest and to not be a dog for the remainder of her life, but that was looking less likely every day.

The children weren't fazed by her insistence on escaping; they just laughed and tried harder. Growling hadn't done much, but Ferin truly didn't have it in her to follow through on warning them off that way. They didn't know any better.

"They are children, not enemies, my dear," Gandalf would say. They are a nuisance, she thought, uncharitably. With sticky hands and loud voices.

'I don't play,' she thought exasperatingly to her companion.

Sivan slowly rolled onto her stomach to rest her chin on her arms. Opening her eyes, the young Mage watched the scene play out in front of her. She hummed, too happy to care. "I think you might not have to. They seem to be entertained enough from this alone."

Ferin turned sharply when a heavyset boy got too close. Aiming her way towards the Mage, she lept over Sivan's prone form with ease, grunting when the landing jarred through her. For a brief moment, hope stirred in Ferin's chest, but it was dashed when Sivan happily remained still to let the children follow.

A sudden cacophony of other children's voices alerted Ferin to a tall man in grey robes walking up the path. He carried a long, worn staff in one hand to ease his stride down the gentle slope from his journey to the Bagginses, casually clutching his robes to prevent any potential misstep. Some of the children ran to greet him, begging him to show them some tricks and magic, but he chuckled and waved them off with, "Another time, perhaps when I am less busy! Ah! There you are, my dears. Enjoying the sun?"

Ferin spotted an opportunity. Gandalf ruined it by easily stepping to the side when Ferin tried to hide behind his legs. The children pursued. Ferin and the children circled for a few moments, Gandalf foiling Ferin's idea every step. He chuckled and moved a final time, allowing the tiny hobbits to finally grasp hold of their prize.

Ferin sighed, and slumped morosely. Defeated by Halflings and a old man. A particularly amorous girl pulled hard on her ear. Ferin turned quickly to grasp the child's hand on her mouth in warning. Although the pressure was gentle, Ferin could tell it made an impact; the girl looked away and murmured an apology. She would tolerate a fair amount of what was to come, but pulling harshly on sensitive parts was not among them. 'I have done my task, you old Wizard. Would it behoove you to remove these children before I lose what's left of my patience?'

"Gandalf!" Sivan greeted happily, cutting off Gandalf's reply to Ferin. The young woman pushed herself up to greet the Wizard properly. Brushing off the grass that clung to her dress, she grasped her own staff and approached him with a smile. The young woman only came to his shoulder, her staff a foot shorter again, but she exuded friendly confidence to the more powerful, if slightly dottery-looking old man. "I don't really know why I've never been before. This place is wonderful!"

Gandalf smiled down at her. "I very much agree. I can only hope you enjoy it here as much as I always have."

'Any news of our new addition?' Ferin asked, seeing no reply to be forthcoming for her rescue. One child lifted a large paw to placed his own hand against the pads, measuring carefully.

"Her paw is bigger than my hand, Daisy! Look, look!"

A young Hobbit lass marched up, and squinted. "It's in terrible shape, though, Bramby. Mother would disapprove. Out wandering and not looking after itself, I'd say. A right proper stray."

Ferin pulled her paw away, offended. She sent a glare to the little Miss, but it didn't seem to phase her.

"Yes indeed!" Gandalf continued, oblivious to Ferin's plight. "Our Mr. Baggins is going to host a dinner for all of us this very evening, in fact. I am just on my way to inform the others."

Ferin felt a shiver of anticipation. Food and escape from the children. 'I think I'll join you.'

"Oh no, Ferin. I wouldn't dream of it. I would enjoy my time here while it lasts, and I couldn't possibly take you away. You are having so much fun."

'You're not being serious, are you?'

A very shy girl, one who'd stayed at the back of the little group, stepped forward to bravely gave Ferin a very enthusiastic hug (Ferin, in her current form, being taller than the child) as if to prove that leaving would deprive her of their love.

Ferin closed her eyes and sighed. Sivan laughed, and Gandalf waved them off, turning and making his way towards the Inn.

'Bloody old Wizard.' A line of children appeared, each little Hobbit lad and lass waiting patiently for their turn for an embrace.

"So," came Sivan's cheerful voice. "Any idea which home it is then?"

Ferin groaned. It was going to be a long afternoon.

Once the sun had set and the lamps had been lit, Ferin quickly and quietly took refuge on top of a roof nearby, watching the children eventually scurry off to their mother's calls for food. Curling up on the earthen roof, Ferin finally enjoyed some peace and quiet. Well, at least until the indignant owner of the house had come home to give out to the strange creature that now occupied the roof of his home like an ominous ornament. He ran out of words eventually when she didn't so much as bat an eye.

The earthen roof was quite comfortable, and Ferin soon found herself relaxing, content to watch the nightlife of the Hobbits that strolled by. The main path from the Inn to Hobbiton was a busy one. Merchants and busy spouses totted wares back from markets or their fields, mothers were calling and scolding their children to come in when they were told, and both young and old couples strolled by, so wrapped up in each other they missed her completely. Ferin found that she was thankful. People stared wherever she went, even in Human villages. She was never sure if she just portrayed a dog poorly, or if it was just something inherently off about the magic that had forced her into this form. Either way, people watched her. A lot.

An hour passed, maybe two. As the evening grew longer, Ferin saw less and less Hobbits. She thought she spotted a Dwarf or two by a further path, but they were gone quickly, and the shadows did not lend to her weary vision. All around her she could see houses lit up, warm and welcoming; there was a peace here that Ferin couldn't remember experiencing before. It had been weeks since she'd been truly on her own. This sudden quiet made her feel oddly unsettled. This life, this peace wasn't meant for the likes of her. She didn't belong here in this untouched world. I don't belong anywhere, anymore.

"Ferin! Where are you?"

The voice roused her her from her bout of melancholy, and Ferin tried to remind herself not to think such morbid thoughts. Sivan was standing near the gate of the home she was perched upon, searching back and forth along the path for her friend. Rising to carefully make her way down the side of the home ('There, you silly Hobbit. I haven't ruined your careful work.'), Ferin called out, 'Over here, Sivan.'

Padding over to the gate, Ferin nosed her way through. Sivan smiled upon seeing her. "There you are. I've found Mister Baggins' home, but it's all the way up there." She pointed to a hill, where they could just make out the rounded Hobbit home resting on the crest. Ferin thought it looked like every other hill. "Gandalf and some of the others are heading this way. I spotted them from further up and, really, you can't miss them. A mismatched rowdy group of Dwarves. We'll wait here and I can show them where to go."

Ferin didn't respond, choosing instead to sit quietly beside her companion. Sivan was Human. A very tall Human, but still not as tall as Gandalf. Ferin only reached the young Mage's hip when standing, but the young woman was a slight thing, all delicate hands and wild hair. The prospect of meeting Dwarves made her tremble in excitement.

"Ah, Miss Sivan!" called Gandalf, making his way towards them. Behind him was a dissonance of short, stocky men with enthusiastic hand gestures and loud voices.

Sivan waved in greeting, and was swiftly introduced to Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Nori, Dori, and Ori. Ferin's mind immediately rebelled at remembering so many names, but Sivan was only too happy to sponge it all in and chat away. Ferin warily kept her distance, following beside them at a steady pace along a grass verge. She may only reach the waist of the tallest Dwarf among them, but they were muscle and weight against her slighter form.

They ignored her for the most part, outside of the odd curious glance. Gandalf had suggested they be allowed to believe that Ferin was nothing more than she appeared: a large, scruffy dog. For this, Ferin was grateful. It had been difficult enough to convince them to allow Sivan, a young Human woman, to join them (as Gandalf's apprentice of sorts), so it was with no great difficulty to see how they would react to Ferin's slightly less than useful looking form.

So for now, she was a dog.

It was a shame that she was so terrible at it. The thoughts of being petted and talked down to always put her on edge, and, most likely, the behaviour only added to the wrongness of what she was. She sighed in resignation, concentrating on filtering out the chatter. There was a cold curl of cool air, and the scent of dampness that brought thoughts of rain, winding down around Hobbiton. All Ferin wanted was food and rest.

It was several minutes later, with the evening well on its way, when one Dwarf finally noticed the dog keeping pace beside their group.

"Oh!" he cried in surprise, before barking out a laugh. "So who's your friend there, Miss Sivan?" He moved towards her. Ferin tensed, ready for his version of petting, but she was surprised when all he did was take in her appearance. Uncomfortable under his quiet regard, Ferin flattened her ears and looked forward. She knew what she looked like; had seen her own reflection in enough rivers and lakes to describe it in her sleep: black and grey speckled coat, rough, scarred, and perpetually unhappy-looking for a dog.

"That would be my companion, Ferin, Mister Bofur!" Sivan called back, having briefly paused in her discussion of herbal tea with the delicate Dwarf with elaborate silver hair. Ferin was nearly sure that one's name had an 'or' in it somewhere.

"Oh aye, Ferin is it?" He smiled and rubbed his fingers together to make a whisping sound. She couldn't stop the reaction of her ear twitching, but she ignored him. "Oh don't be like that, now," he chuckled. "I'm not that bad." Some of the others laughed. "Oi, I'm not," he returned in good humour.

"She's a bit particular, Master Dwarf," Gandalf said from behind the group. "Be mindful with her."

Bofur frowned, but didn't persist. A sensible one then, perhaps.

When they finally reached the top, the gate was swung open without care and all rushed up to the door, eager for a good meal and excellent company. Unfortunately, poor Bilbo Baggins' front porch was far from accommodating to eight Dwarves and one woman. Sivan had just managed to reach the doorbell before those at the front nearly suffocated.

"Oi! Get your elbow out of my back!"

"Stop shoving!"

"I'm not bloody shoving! I'm going to fall down the steps if I don't stand closer."

"Easy lads, or we'll all go tumbling."

Ferin had almost escaped the mayhem but the unbalanced Dwarf had, indeed, managed to tilt backwards, his foot coming down to step on her paw. She couldn't help the yelp that escaped, quickly retreating backwards.

They all tried to turn to see, but the door was suddenly pulled open. The entire lot of them tilted forward with a startled cry. A brief pause thickened the air, and then the sound of wheezing groans from those at the bottom of the pile.

Ferin sighed and tried to flex out the tingling in her foot.

"At least they fell forward," Gandalf said kindly to her, before smiling indulgently at the poor, haggard looking Halfling on the other side of the door.

A Hobbit's hospitality was remarkable. At least, this one's seemed to be. Either that, or he was just overwhelmed. Ferin was inclined to believe the latter.

There had already been four Dwarves present at the time of their arrival, and each of them got a very enthusiastic greeting that gave Ferin a headache.

While the Dwarves essentially ignored the homeowner, Sivan had stepped in with a curtsey and a smile, profusely apologising for intruding in the way that they had. She had taken the Halflings hand and had patted it sympathetically, all the while glancing around the abode so she could compliment his home.

"A fine place you have here, Mister Baggins, I must say. This area of The Shire is quite pleasing, and I was just saying to Gandalf how at ease I felt upon arriving. Do you know I've seen quite a few places in my time and..."

Ferin stopped listening. Having remained by the door until the troupe had blundered their way in, Ferin finally decided that she had better make her presence known lest their host close the door on her.

Slowly, so as to not startle the man, Ferin took cautious steps across the threshold. Mister Baggins glanced at her movement distractedly, hand still gently gripped by Sivan, before freezing entirely. Ferin was tempted to think he had managed to turn to stone.

Sivan stopped abruptly when his hand tightened its grip on her own. "Oh," she murmured.

Ferin stopped, and lowered her gaze and head in a valiant effort to appear less intimidating. She wasn't surprised that it didn't work. Her shoulders nearly reached those of the Hobbit, so it was no wonder his first word to her was, "Wha..."

Sivan's eyes widened in alarm. "Gandalf!" she called sharply.

The Wizard appeared just as Mister Baggins began to back away. Sivan released his hand, and stepped back into an archway, just as some of the others appeared, still chatting to each other. The stopped abruptly at the tension in the small space of the Hobbit's hallway.

"What in all the world is that?" asked a silver-haired Dwarf, brows lowered in confusion. His taller, balder companion growled and shouldered his way through, grabbing a hand axe from a box by the door.

"No, Master Dwalin!" Gandalf rebuked sharply, moving forward to deter the forward momentum of the burly male. "Stop this foolishness at once! She is a friend. Harmless, and invited by yours truly, so put that down and stay your hand!"

"Aye," piped Master Bofur, nodding and walking swiftly towards Ferin. She kept her gaze lowered, ears flat, and head down as he approached. He threw an arm over her shoulders and patted her side with a few hard slaps. "Harmless dog is all she is, Mister Bilbo." He gave Feirn a considering, if slightly wary, glance. "If a bit on the large side."

A quick glance to Gandalf, and a responding one in kind, told Ferin that she'd better play along. So she sat, hunched in on herself to appear as small as possible.

"If people begin to fear you," Gandalf had told her once, when she had only recently started coping in her new form, "use your instincts to make yourself as submissive as possible. We are all animals, my dear, and we all react very strongly to body language."

It seemed to work. Gradually, everyone began to be at ease once more, and Bilbo became increasingly more distracted when the Dwarves took it upon themselves to take over his home.

Ferin, in a bid to remain unnoticeable where possible, slowly made her way towards the hearth in the living room. The fire was low, but warm enough to drive away some of the chill and aches in her bones. Ferin chose a spot under the archway that lead to the hall to avail of the heat, but also to watch the comings and goings of the new, temporary guests of the Halflings home.

Tables and chairs were moved, food pillaged and laid out, kegs of ale carried in by very eager young brothers. Dwarves were surprisingly dextrous despite the lumbering look of them. It had been so long since she had been around them. She had almost forgotten. There were rarely any collisions or damage. Everyone weaved around each other with ease. Well, Ferin mused, apart from Gandalf and Bilbo, the former trying his best to account for everyone, the latter looking cross and confused.

The young brothers (Fili and Kili, I think?) tried their best to pat her on the head whenever they passed, but she easily ducked their questing hands. On their next pass, she managed to avoid them once more, only to endure a rough slap on the side by the one with the axe in his head. He grunted something intelligible and took hold of her nose. Ferin tensed at his sudden scrutiny. After a moment he nodded, moving away with another heavy pat of his thick hand on her shoulder.

Sivan had disappeared some time ago into the pantry with the roundest of Dwarves. Ferin hadn't seen her since, though she did see the same Dwarf carrying out several blocks of cheese on his return.

She had to huff in amusement at the Wizard's disappointment in the meager offering of wine from the delicate, silver-haired Dwarf. 'Nowhere near enough for your gullet, I would imagine.' He paid her a passing, disapproving glance, before downing it.

After no more than half an hour, everyone had begun to migrate towards the table, and Ferin had to restrain herself. The smell of food was intoxicating, but she liked company less and less these days. They were noisey. Overwhelmingly so. Hunger was pressing on her stomach, but for now, she would wait.

Spotting Mister Baggins watching his house come to ruins, Ferin felt a pang of sympathy. There was nothing worse than a gang of boisterous people ruining your quiet evening. He'd tried several times to get his voice heard, but, in the end, the Hobbit had given up to stand near the archway, looking forlorn and lost.

When they finally settled into their seats, Ferin sighed. Curling a paw beneath her, she rested her chin on her extended leg. For now, she didn't have to watch anything or anyone. Her guard duty was over. Sivan was safe. Ferin could hear her down at the far end of the table, laughing at something someone else said. Safe and well. And out of my hair, so to speak.

Just when she had allowed her eyes to drift closed, Ferin heard someone coming in her direction. Ears pricked forward, she opened her eyes to find Mister Bofur leaning over to place down a plate of food by her nose. Raising her head, she regarded him warily.

He smiled. "Thought you might be hungry, lass. If you want more, just come over. Although I'd hurry, if I were you. No telling how fast this food will go, but it'll be fast enough to leave your head spinning." He laughed, and turned to go back to the table. Ferin watched him go. When he didn't look back, or keep an eye on her as she thought he might, she cautiously sniffed the offering. It had been some time since she had had a decent meal. Too much travelling, and limited by her form, often lead her to look for scraps if she couldn't outright hunt something down.

This was a delicacy she hadn't had since she had been in her previous form. Despite her hunger, Ferin ate carefully, savouring as much as possible. There was no way to know when the next one would be.

Once the plate was cleaned (and shamefully licked) Ferin tried to ease back into a light doze. Ignoring the chatter was getting a bit easier. She had just reached a nice limbo of awareness when the sound of scraping chairs and chatter grew a bit louder. They began gathering up the plates, and laughed at Mister Baggins' protests. He became increasingly more indignant, until they began to pick up a tune.

Ferin watched in disbelief at their antics. Cups and plates were lobbed back and forth, tossed carelessly, bumped, and nudged, and redirected… and not one of them broke. Not a scratch, or chip. No audible smash to be heard.

Mister Baggins was quite out of sorts about it all, until he arrived in the kitchen. Ferin watched his back and shoulders sink - in relief? It certainly seemed that way when the Dwarves raucous laughter followed the gesture.

The kitchen was full and brimming with noise, and then suddenly it wasn't. A heavy-handed knock interrupted, and an abrupt, poignant silence filled the home.

"He is here."