Hearing his Dwarven companions enter the mountain, and calling names, Bilbo had to stop and warn them. Ever since they entered the now-desolated kingdom, Thorin has been acting strangely lately: avoiding his kin, spending his time in the treasure room, even avoid sleeping and eating.
"Wait! Wait!", the Hobbit's voice echoed through the mountain. He was coming towards them, almost out of breath. "Stop! Stop! Stop!", his fading breathing level made his voice come into a harsh whisper. "We need to leave. We all need to leave", he simply told them, almost as if in a panic.
With her cloak on, and her headdress off, Saeril sat down on a log to tend to an young woman and her child, while wrapping a bandage around the woman's wrist. "Hold this in place", she spoke up after placing a wet rag to the child's head, before she gestured the mother to hold it in place. Standing up to pass a blanket to a man nearby, the she-elf looked down at her porcelain hands, and noticed her sharp two-inch nails shrinking into a gentle curve. The sooner the spell fades, the better.
Legolas didn't answer nor did he turn back, although he was slightly dissapointed in his cousin, who was like a sister to him. "There's more to this Orc pack than I fear, Tauriel", he said to her, before hearing her question. "The Orc that we pursued was Bolg, the spawn of Azog the Defiler", he began to explain. "A Wargpack was waiting for him on the outskirts of Esgorath, and fled to the north. These Orcs were different from the others, as they bore a mark I had not seen for a long time. The mark of Gundabad", the elf-prince finished, though there was a small hint of grim in his voice.
