Journey's End
Days had passed since the encounter with Landallas at The Last Bridge. The inhabitants of Ost Guruth had hosted the dwarves awhile, but Zurri's Folk moved on soon enough. The dry grass of The Lone-lands crunched beneath the hooves of their mountain goats, and the company spent what felt like an eternity passing dead, twisted trees on their way to Bree-land. The dwarves were underfed, for wild animals were seldom seen in the land that only the forsaken would dare tarry in.
Eventually they came to a clearing, the haunting ruin of Weathertop looming on the horizon. They dismounted from their mountain goats, hitched the steeds to the nearby leaveless trees, and began setting up camp once again.
"I will scout a short ways ahead," Ungar the hunter announced with a tired tone, the statement routinely made by now.
"Very good. Ungar, take Glomgrim with you," commanded Zurri gently. "The elf warned us of this land. We would do well to heed his word, as long as it leads us not astray."
Ungar certainly appeared unhappy at the decision, but he accepted it, and jerked his head at Glomgrim for him to join him nevertheless. The latter threw his arm about the former, cheerfully laughing as they strode away.
"Har har, Ungar, be no' so sour! Tis a rare thing yer n'I work together like this! Enjoy i'!" said Ungar encouragingly, his black mohawk swaying somewhat in the breeze.
"Hmph. Stay close to me. I will not be responsible for any of your schemes, do you hear?" warned Ungar, but with the faint trace of a smile.
Eventually, the banter of the two parting dwarves faded away. The rest of the company sat down, ate, drank, and exchanged whispers. The Lone-lands was a foul sort of region, and it did sap much of their merriment now that the pitch of dark began to descend upon them. The moon shone wispy rays of ghostly light through gaps in the black clouds that hung above them. Zurri felt his eyes become heavy, and he closed them after a time.
Later, he was stirred, and Balthnar looked over him.
"Up, young Zurri. Ungar and Glomgrim, they have not yet returned to us," said Balthnar, worry evident in his tone and expression alike.
Zurri stirred with a start, mustered his dwarves and off they went into the wild night, torches lit and weapons drawn. All made off but Alvar the minstrel, who stayed behind to keep safe the mountain goats, their loyal steeds.
Following the tracks of their companions, they charged through bushes, wove their way through eerie woodland, and flung themselves across streams. After some hours searching, Zurri and his company came upon a terrible sight. It was a warg, nearly as big as a bear, with its head stooped low, making all the sounds of a greedy beast at dinner. They noted it was greatly wounded as it feasted on its prey, with fresh gashes marring near all its body. The dwarves knew no fear until it raised its great head, blood lining the fur around it's snarling mouth. The feral eyes found them, and they were angered.
The bodies of Ungar and Glomgrim lay beneath the beast. They had fallen together, facing their foe until the bitter end. Much of them was gruesomely missing, but the company did know them by their still-worn boots alone. Nothing needed to be said, and only action needed to be taken. Zurri led the charge with a deafening cry of sorrow and anger, and led the rest of his company forward, steel and torches raised aloft. The warg, already wounded from its battle with Ungar and Glomgrim, fell quickly. By the end, there wasn't much left of her, either.
By dawn their comrades were buried. Zurri said a few words, steeling himself as the rest of the dwarves openly wept all around him. After saying their farewells to the mounds that now represented their friends, they made of. They dealt with their grief together, fought one another, blamed one another, and did console and apologize to each other when things got out of hand. The two riderless goats reminded them of their loss with every waking moment.
Days later they arrived in the Bree-land. The company did camp in the Chetwood, bitter and broken, certainly, but they made it, and they smiled at that fact. Zurri parted ways from them once camp was set, and went alone to Bree to inquire about his father, Yurri.
He had to be there. It had to have all been for something.
