Who: Frodo Baggins and OTA!
What: Foraging, exploring and fighting wolves (not by choice)
When: Mid to late June
Where: Milton, the surrounding forests and on the road towards the mine

Content Warnings: Violence and (mild?) gore

A. Foraging and exploring

There are many very talented people among the Interlopers. It makes Frodo wish he had a bit more to offer, that he could fire a weapon or that he knew anything at all about the strange technologies or the seemingly otherworldly natural phenomena. He can do none of those things, unfortunately.

What he can do, however, is identify plants. The summer may still be freezing, but it must mean that some plants have rejuvenated, which is why he ventures into the woods around Milton in search of anything that may be use. Anyone catching him either on the way out or in the forest is more than welcome to join him.

B. The aurora wolves

Sleep hasn't come easy ever since his arrival, as any time he has to think he worries about Sam, Merry and Pippin, the rest of the Fellowship, and the Ring. It remains light around his throat, constantly making him doubt whether it is the One Ring or not, though he couldn't imagine how it could have been swapped or who would have done so.

The constant sun doesn't help matters.

That is one reason he decides to settle in for the night as street lights flicker to life with the aurora. The other reason is that it's clear this particular natural phenomenon is the cause of many strange things happening around here. He's not sure what he hopes to find, but sitting around won't do much good either. Which is why he takes the road towards the Milton Mine in search of a sufficiently large crack.

In theory, Frodo knows a lot about the effects the aurora has on the world. He's aware that being out in it isn't the best idea and that he probably ought to have asked someone to come with him. That's his first thought when he hears the howls, and he scrambles to his feet over the crack in the road that he was staring at in the hopes that it would tell him something.

The three wolves approaching him look wrong. That's far less important than the fact that they're here at all, of course, and he fumbles for the rocks he'd picked up and put in his pocket a long time ago. It's doubtful they'll do too much, but they might buy him some time. With his heart beating in his temples, he grips a rock tight in his hands and starts backing off down the road. The first throw hits one of the wolves square between its eyes, and it yelps as it ducks its head and runs back up the hill they came from.

Unfortunately, the other two had started running in the time it took him to aim and throw. Two big paws land on his chest as one of them leaps, knocking the breath right out of him as he hits the asphalt.

In that moment, instinct takes over. A by-now-familiar rage surges in him, his vision flashing with a blinding white. I can't die here. I won't die here. His teeth grit together so hard it would ache if he were capable of feeling it. But he isn't, because all that matters is that these wolves need to go or die.

The wolf that knocked him down goes for his throat, but before it reaches it, he's got one hand clamping down on its nose and one on its chest. With what is practically a roar, he pushes it off himself, and wastes no time leaping after it. He tears at its face with his nails. He only has a couple of seconds before the other wolf yanks him off by his foot, but it's enough to make it bleed. The second wolf gets a kick to its mouth strong enough for something to crack, but although both of them need a moment, they don't back off. The third has regained its courage after the rock throw too, but Frodo is on his feet now and, empowered by Old Bear as he is, he doesn't get knocked down again.

It's over in less than a minute. The wolves run off with their tail between their legs, two of them limping, and they leave specks of blood in the snow. As Frodo starts catching his breath, he turns to head back towards Milton, rearranging the scarf around his neck. When he tries to lift his foot over the crack in the road, however, he can't seem to lift it far enough and his boot catches on the edge. His knees slam into the asphalt as he collapses, and all the padding in the world won't stop it hurting.

He gasps with pain, pauses for a moment, then tries to push himself back up. To no avail.

C. One eternity later... (48 hours)

When he finally wakes, he feels as though his stomach might eat itself up. He is also certain that he could down a whole pint's worth of drink and it wouldn't be enough to sate the thirst. Sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed feels like trying to lift heavy boulders, but he manages well enough, and once he's up walking isn't a struggle.

He dearly hopes someone happens to have cooked or happens to already be cooking a hot meal. If necessary, he'll settle for jerky or bread or anything he can just grab and eat without preparation, but a meal is what he truly craves.