The wind was howling as a viscous storm rolled through the Southland. It seemed that the weather worsened as the fate of the world grew closer, and the Watcher was sure of it. Along the Faric in a small shrub he waited. He knew the mysterious crack of lightning from nights ago was not the same as those brewing this night. She was here, and she must have found what the Watcher worked so hard to keep safe.
Hiding was not familiar to him, but over the years observing the Raehl he became quite good at it. A long time passed since the Watcher came face to face with its green robed nemesis. His small figure had gone unnoticed by her plenty of times -- just as the Raehl had.
But it was only a matter of time, time which went by faster than the Watcher hoped. One day she was going to find the library, the Bloodstone, and the family who hid along with them. But the Watcher prepared Farjadis for this day, and could only trust things would go according to plan. Glancing at the narrow bridge that led to the hobbit village, he wondered who would be escaping its confines this night.
Hours went by before a small caravan appeared, crossing the bridge slowly. The hobbit guiding it's horse was not who the Watcher expected. And so he trailed the caravan, hoping it carried the precious gem, and those sacred tomes.
Scurrying along the dirt trail beside the Faric the Watcher caught up with the man in a matter of seconds. Being spotted was not an issue for the hobbit man would not worry about who the Watcher was this night.
There sat piles of books stacked to the ceiling filling the entire caravan. But the Bloodstone mattered most to the small pair of eyes within the shadows. Sprinting ahead of the caravan some distance away, the Watcher stopped and hawked the man down with his beady eyes.