“Wake up, little Hobbit. This is not a good place to be unconscious.”
Bilbo didn’t recognize the low voice and just groaned pitifully in response. He felt heavy, as if his bones had been replaced with metal and were weighing him down.
The ground was hard beneath him and sharp rocks seemed to burrow into his spine. This was definitely not his soft featherbed in Bag End.
Bilbo couldn’t seem to find it in himself to care overmuch about such trivial matters as unknown voices and uncomfortable surroundings.
“I’m quite serious, Master Hobbit; I need you to wake up now.
” A palm gently tapping against his cheek was the next thing to register to Bilbo’s battered senses, trying to coax him back to wakefulness. Bilbo struggled masterfully.
Waking up was entirely too much hassle, couldn’t the voice understand that? “Come on, open those eyes, there we go.
” Bilbo finally managed to obey the commanding tone and looked dazedly at the speaker. His vision was blurry and the light coming off the lichen on the walls was very dim.
He managed to make out the shape of braids framing the face in front of him and the silhouette of a bow poking over the figure’s shoulder.
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