The three dim-witted Trolls had never encountered a Wizard.
"What's that one then? Can we eat it?" William, the largest and slowest, asked.
"Looks like a Man. Men are tasty," Bert added, licking his rubbery lips.
Gandalf didn't waste time with words. He tapped into his store of inner power, and the crystal atop his staff erupted with a blinding, white radiance.
"AHH! THE SUN!"
Trolls fear nothing more than the light of the dawn, which turns their flesh to cold stone. Instinctively, the three giants threw their massive arms over their eyes, howling in terror.
One second passed. Two. Three.
"Wait... I'm not a rock," William said, looking at his hands with clear, stupid disbelief.
"Me neither."
"Are we... getting stronger?"
In their own peculiar way, the Trolls were the comic relief of the wilderness. Gandalf knew his magical light wouldn't actually petrify them—it was a trick of the eye, a temporary stun. Real dawn was still minutes away.
"Run! To me!" Gandalf bellowed at the Company.
Bilbo didn't need a second invitation. Seeing the Wizard was like seeing a literal god of rescue; he scrambled toward Gandalf as fast as his hairy feet could carry him. The other Dwarves followed in a clattering rush—all except for the naked and buzz-cut Thorin Oakenshield. He stood for a moment, gripping his sword, his eyes burning with a murderous glare directed at Keith (still in Troll-form).
But even Thorin knew when the hand was lost. With his kin retreating, he turned and sprinted after them, his dignity left somewhere in the dirt behind him.
The three Trolls, squinting against the stinging white light, began to stumble blindly toward the sound of Gandalf's voice.
"Lying Men! You tried to trick us!"
"Don't let 'em go! I'm gonna eat 'em all!"
Keith didn't join the pursuit. He stepped back into the dark canopy of the trees, shifted back into his Raven form, and took to the sky to watch the final act.
The sky in the East began to turn the color of a fish's belly. The true dawn was coming.
Gandalf saw the shift in the light. He stopped, turned, and once again raised his staff. The crystal flared again, doubling the brilliance as the first true rays of the sun crested the mountains.
The light hit the Trolls like a physical blow. Their movements slowed, their grey skin hardening and cracking. Within moments, three statues of jagged stone stood frozen in the clearing, their faces twisted in eternal, stupid confusion.
"There's still one more!" Thorin growled, breathing hard as he found his voice. "If the sun takes them, the other one must have a den nearby! He's hiding in the dark!"
"We hunt him down! We kill him now!"
Thorin's thirst for revenge was palpable. The humiliation Keith had dealt him was a wound deeper than any blade.
Gandalf looked at Thorin—shorn and disheveled—and could guess enough of the story to feel a twinge of pity. "To fight a Troll in his own den is rarely a wise course of action. We are safe now. We should put leagues between us and this place."
"No!" Thorin barked, his eyes cold. "I will have his life!"
He was convinced that against a single remaining "Troll," the thirteen of them stood a certain victory. Gandalf remained silent for a moment. "What exactly happened while I was away?"
Thorin said nothing. The other Dwarves looked at their boots. The silence was heavy and awkward.
Gandalf, being a master of the unspoken, didn't press the issue. "Very well, Thorin. First, put on some decent clothes. Then, we shall look for this cave."
Minutes later, a dressed and brooding Thorin led the search.
Bilbo hovered near Gandalf. He was relieved to be alive, but he saw no sense in hunting more trouble. "Where did you go, Gandalf?"
"I went ahead to look at the road," the Wizard said gently. "I am glad to see you are in one piece, Bilbo."
"Barely," Bilbo admitted. "We nearly ended up as dinner."
"Tell me, how did you find yourselves in such a predicament?"
Bilbo glanced at the angry back of Thorin Oakenshield and gave a shortened version of the night's events. He left out the more "embarrassing" details of Thorin's treatment but spoke at length about the "spiritual raven" that had warned them.
My turn, Keith thought.
From his perch in a nearby pine, the Raven glided down and settled once again on Bilbo's shoulder.
"Look! It's him!" Bilbo exclaimed.
Gandalf looked at the bird, and his eyes immediately narrowed. He recognized that aura—it was identical to the eagle that had brought the news of the Dragon Kingdom.
Shapeshifting sorcery... Gandalf thought.
He didn't know every spell in Middle-earth, but he knew this wasn't the work of Galadriel or any of his kin. What is its true form? Who sent it? And what does it want with a company of Dwarves?
Gandalf decided to keep his suspicions quiet. If he drove the bird away, it would only return in a different, perhaps more dangerous shape. Better to keep the "spy" where he could see it.
"You have a loyal friend there, Bilbo," Gandalf said with a faint, knowing smile. "A very... spirited bird."
Finally, Thorin found the entrance to the lair. "Here! Follow me!"
Thorin might be foolish, but he was undeniably brave. He charged into the darkness of the cave without a second's hesitation. The thirteen Dwarves followed, Bilbo and Gandalf bringing up the rear.
The cave reeked of rotting meat and wet fur. "Higher Powers! The stench is unbearable!" one Dwarf cried.
"Silence!" Thorin hissed, his blade ready.
They searched every crevice, every pile of filth. But the cave was empty.
"He's not here?" Thorin's voice was a snarl of frustration. "How? There must be another cave! The Troll I fought was different—he didn't know these three!"
"We go back out! We scour the woods until we find him!"