Beorn sat on his porch, watching the little bunny run gleefully from flower to flower in his garden, a soft smile on his face as he remembered. A small body, running through the fields, much like the bunny was doing now, face flushed, high-pitched giggles escaping his son’s mouth. The happy squeal when he caught his boy in his arms and spun him around. His wife’s thick wavy hair glowing amber in the setting sunlight, her sweet laugh ringing through the air. These memories are followed by longing, and the agonizing pain of loss, and Beorn sighs heavily, leaning his head in his large hands, hands that were not large enough or strong enough to save them.
A small hand alights upon his arm, lightly calloused and gentle. “I lost my family too. It was just me and my parents for the longest time, and then one winter it grew too cold, and we were sick and starving. Many of us in the Shire were lost. Then the wolves came when the Brandywine froze over and the fear was insurmountable. My father died from illness, but I lost my mother to grief. It was not very long before she passed as well, and I’ve been alone for such a long time. I know not what happened to your family and I will not ask, but know that I understand how you feel.” The little bunny grasps his hand tightly, his hand looking so small in the skinchanger’s own. He smiles reassuringly, wiping silent tears from his cheeks and wandering back into the garden, making a crown out of forget-me-nots and pansies. The skinchanger is vaguely aware of the dwarf-king hovering nearby, his brow furrowed in contemplation, and smiles, then goes off into the woods, shedding his man form to patrol his borders, desiring nothing more than to keep them safe.