A Dream in the House of Beorn

Bilbo was rudely dumped out of his warm bed, his breath a frosty cloud in the cool air. Above him was the pale moon, and around him were shadowy shapes of bears, and a wild reek like a kennel of damp hounds.

"Is it a Goblin?" growled a low voice. A hairy paw rolled him about, and a wet nose snuffled his hair. "It doesn't smell like a Goblin."

"It's a cub," said an old sow-bear, her eyes glittering. Bilbo had horrible visions of himself crushed into a maternal, ursine bosom and carried off to a cave to live on grubs.

"It's a hare!" said the voice of a younger bear, horribly eager. "Let's eat it!"

"Do not be hasty, my friends." A great black bear rose up, huge and terrible, and shook himself like a man shrugging off his cloak. Beorn held the trembling hobbit high before the assembled bears. "It is a hobbit, and my guest!"

There was a pause.

"So we can't eat it?" grumbled the young bear.

Bilbo squeaked and awoke, surrounded by snoring Dwarves. What a dreadful dream! But the bedclothes smelled faintly of damp hounds and frost, and Bilbo shivered. A dream? Perhaps not!