Kili watched with dread as Thorin was tossed through the air like a broken doll, landing in a heap with a dull thud.
He was still clinging to the tree which had fallen on its side and was hanging perilously over the edge of the cliff with hundreds of feet of blackness bellow it,
being held in place only by its strong roots.
Kili’s heart thumped like a drum in his chest,
he could hear his heartbeats over the sounds of the roaring flames and the cries of the rest of the company as they clung desperately to the branches, feet kicking uselessly in the air.
But it wasn’t the prospect of falling, or of being burnt, not even of being torn to shreds by the snapping jaws of wargs that sent waves of panic up his spine.
It was watching his uncle, who now pushed himself shakily up onto his elbows, struggle to fight the gigantic pale orc, Azog the Defiler.
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