Dear mobile users, apologies for the loooong text post. Feel free to scroll past - no pics to load here. Though feel free to stop and read XD
Morning dawns ashen and pale. A bitterly cold wind brushes over the field where now frost begins to cover the remaining bodies. Within the shattered stones of Erebor’s grand entrance the dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield’s company have sought shelter. Here, at least, the wind does not reach them.
Dori, Nori and Gloin have procured blankets from within the mountain to provide bedding. There are too few tents, too little shelter. Dain’s dwarves have not brought much, nor did Thranduil. Dale is but a ruin, from which yet smoke rises toward the brightening sky. The little sunlight that pierces fog and smoke bears no warmth, and those that survived battle may still succumb to the cold.
Oin works hard. At least - it seems - their company is lucky. Nori sustained a bad scrape, Dwalin broke his ankle and Balin lost two fingers. Minor injuries, though Oin would rather see all of them of their feet, especially Fili and Kili. The princes are pale, casting anxious glances out toward the field from where Dwalin dragged them back - Kili with yet another arrow sticking from his thigh and Fili with a gash across his back.
From their uncle no trace has been seen. Dwalin told them he went after Azog and then Bilbo after him - the news simultaneously elating and terrifying. Elating for Thorin must have finally slain his enemy. The orc armies have dispersed, leaderless and in fear. Terrifying for what likely happened to Thorin.
Ever since their smallest member slid from their midst to rejoin Gandalf below, they’d thought him safe. Thought the wizard would watch out for him.
They should have remembered Bilbo Baggins had a mind of his own.