Dawning gas rose from the hottest waters; while low cliffs stood idly beside growing grass and lingering weeds. The waters rippled, sending a chain of events to happen: the water lapping on the distant lands; a log floating out through the rivers; and Vera approached the scenic environment.                                               Wincing, she dipped low, crawling beside the riverbanks, her jeans soaked through to the skin with water and mud. She let her fingers touch the lingering waters, infested with small, harmless fish and creatures.

Just then, she could hear a sound. Thorin, who was a smart young gentleman with ruffled brown hair, approached her, taking his sister’s hand, muttering single, fast words with efficiency.

“They’re coming, and Bilbo and Paris are safe. Come on!” said Thorin, and they rushed through the forests, doing as he said. Thorin limped weakly behind, as his leg had not healed up after the last adventure, getting the ice-cream. The dragon was coming nearer… He was supper now…