((I'm so sorry, mates. I've been sick and exhausted and just generally miserable since Saturday, so I haven't really been able to post much. It's currently far too late to conjure up something at the moment, but I shall do my very, very best to post tomorrow (either in the morning or later, if I don't have time).))

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The Fellowship trudged wordlessly on, slowly but surely making their way back down the mountain as the men steadily forced a makeshift path through the snow. One would lead, pushing the snow aside as he went, and the others worked to widen the path for those behind. When the leader grew tired, another man would trade with him, and so on and so forth. After some time of proceeding like this, the snow finally began to gradually get lighter, and eventually even the hobbits were able to walk again. Caradhras seemed content with their departure, for there were at least no more major incidents.

Unfortunately, as the snow began to dissipate, so did the clouds. Between trekking up the mountain and retreating back down again, the Fellowship had wasted nearly the whole day, and the sun was now hastily sinking below the horizon. It was still mostly cloudy, but it would only take one small gap at the wrong moment for all to be revealed. "We ought to be seekin' shelter soon, aye?" Barbossa finally asked, glancing apprehensively up at the sky.

Gandalf considered for a moment, then nodded shortly. Under any other circumstances, he might have been tempted to carry on through the night to make up for lost time, but storm or no, the Misty Mountains were not a safe place to travel at night. "If memory serves me, there is a small hill not far from here. There is a slight outcropping in the rock that should suffice as shelter for the evening."

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Sam hefted his pack yet again and kept trudging through the dissipating snow, glad of the warmth returning to his appendages. "Does it remind you of winters back home, Mr. Frodo?" he said by way of conversation. "Only with more snow, and the likes of those storms don't bother us roundabout Hobbiton."

Elizabeth wiggled her freezing fingers, glad not to feel part block of ice any more. Snow still lingered in her hair and clung to her makeshift cloak, where it would no doubt turn to water and soak the thing. With a touch of irony she recalled winters in London, the soft touch of snowflakes there and quickly gone, and compared it to the howling wind and drifts of Caradhras. She decidedly preferred the former.

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"Very good, Jack, that be the sky..." Barbossa muttered sarcastically as they continued to approach their shelter for the night. He was just as eager to reach the safety of the shade, but it would look rather suspicious for the two of them to run ahead, so he was careful to not get too far from the group.

"Directly ahead," Gandalf said in response to Will's query, quickening his pace slightly.

It took them very little time to actually reach the overhang in question, and soon they were slinging down their packs in exhaustion. The space was small, but it was enough to at least keep them all somewhat out of the elements.

Aragorn was just beginning to pull out his pipe when something happened to freeze them all in their tracks. The air was full of howling again, much as it had been during the storm.

Only this time, it wasn't the wind.

Merry, who had likewise been attempting to revive his last vestige of pipeweed, frowned and looked up, as though someone unseen had tapped him on the shoulder. "What's that?" he piped up, voice high over the eerie sound.

Sam, on the other hand, had been wistfully thinking about a fire and something warm and roasted. Almost unconsciously he edged closer to Frodo, pulling his cloak about himself. That sound - it was unnatural. It sounded like Farmer Maggot's dogs, only louder and multiplied many times over. Without even knowing what it was the hobbits edged closer together.

Elizabeth went so far as to stand up and lift her head, trying to hear. The stillness of the others told her this was nothing good - and stillness would soon spring into pandemonium if that sound was indeed as dangerous as they seemed to think it was.

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"More than we could hope to defeat," Gandalf replied shortly, picking up his staff again. "We should not have stopped. We shall make for Moria at first light tomorrow, assuming that we last the night. Arm yourselves."

Aragorn loosened his sword in its sheath, but did not draw it yet. "Gandalf, where the warg howls, there also the orc prowls. We cannot remain here. I fear we will be facing more than just wolves this night."

"The top of the hill will serve us better," Gandalf agreed. "We shall light a fire and hope that it is enough to deter the wargs."

"The exposed hilltop?" Barbossa interrupted, glancing out at the sky dubiously. The clouds had still not yet broken, but there was still a chance... "It would seem that such a location would only make us more vulnerable to attack." Of course, this was not his only reason for questioning the decision, but it was the only reason any of them needed to know.

"Perhaps," Aragorn assented with a slight nod. "But better to be vulnerable to attack in an open space than to be vulnerable to attack while pinned up against a wall. Come. We must hurry." With that, he exited the cave and began climbing up the hill.

Barbossa hesitated fractionally, cursed under his breath, then followed suit. At least he had spotted several tall boulders circling the hilltop that would serve temporarily if they got desperate. He could only hope that Sparrow did the same.

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Sam was sure-footed on the rocks, but the pair of frying pans dangling from his pack jangled ever so slightly and he cast an apprehensive look behind them as the hobbits ascended. By the time they'd reached the top he'd become jumpy enough to have his short sword in hand, turning about as howls filled the air seemingly from every direction.

"What are they?" Elizabeth hissed as they climbed, looking at those ahead - the men looked grim, Barbossa edgy and avoiding the moonlight and Jack nonchalant as ever. A sharp bark sounded from the misty darkness and she jumped briefly. It sounded somewhat like a wolf, but no wolf howled so long and deep. And there were other sounds, too - like footsteps, and an occasional growl that did not sound like a wolf at all, but a guttural command in some language she did not know. For the sake of appearances she cast about for some makeshift weapon, automatically looking around for Will.

Merry tripped slightly on a rock and as he bent to pick himself up luminous eyes appeared in the gloom and he jumped backwards, weapon clumsily jumping to his hand. His sharp intake of breath seemed to go unnoticed.

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"Wargs," Aragorn said tersely, drawing his sword. Sensing that their new companions still did not understand, he expounded. "Wolves, only much bigger and far more intelligent. With them are orcs, mutilated servants of the Enemy. Arm yourselves with any weapons you possess. Sam! Get a fire going."

All around them, the glowing pairs of watchful eyes multiplied, soon completely surrounding the hilltop. Some were near, some were further in the distance. Some had advanced almost to the ring of stones.

Drawing his sword as well, Barbossa turned his attention away from the skies. They could not afford to be distracted at this point. Immortal or no, what he could see of their approaching enemies told him that it would be a close battle at this point. He might not have been able to die, but he didn't particularly relish the thought of spending eternity in pieces, either. Plus, between the perimeter of stones and the gnarled trees overhead, they at least had a decent amount of shelter. They would simply have to focus on the fight and trust to luck.

Through one of the gaps in the ring of stones, an especially large, dark wolf shape could be seen, crouching low to the ground and staring at them.

Gandalf strode forward, holding his staff aloft. "Listen, Hound of Sauron!" he cried. "Gandalf is here. Fly, if you value your foul skin! I will shrivel you from tail to snout if you come within this ring."

The only response he received was a snarl and a shuddering howl, not unlike a captain gathering his troops for an attack.

Sam, having started a fragile little fire with the meager amount of dry wood lying about, stood in front of it with his sword drawn and an expression of determination on his honest, round face. Merry flanked him, blade likewise drawn and trembling slightly. A rather more wily warg than the rest muscled his way past their defenses and both hobbits yelled as it barreled toward them, Merry rather louder. Sam, however, was the first to jump forward and flail wildly with his blade, inflicting a few minor injuries.

Elizabeth, holding a flaming brand from the fire, could almost feel the air chill as what appeared to be shaggy, enormous wolves - what had Aragorn called them? Wargs? - advanced, eyes glowing luminously and jaws slavering. A creature she'd never seen before leapt over the circle of stones with a curious scurrying gait, and as flickering light illuminated it she bit back a scream - what was that thing?!

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