The forest of Mirkwood loomed before them, each tree a sentinel to the heavy darkness that resided within. Shadow felt the weight of the shadows, an oppressive blanket that even her dragon senses recoiled from. She had not expected such a foulness to grip these old woods.

"Are you doing alright?" Bilbo piped up, evidently struggling to mask his disgust at the stench that clung to the air.

"Yes," Shadow responded quickly before she steeled herself, setting her gaze on the decay ahead. "Let's move on."

Gandalf had drawn close to confer with Bilbo, and once their murmured exchange ended, Shadow watched as the grey wizard departed. His absence was like a stone in her gut; his company had become a comforting presence. But she wasn't the leader here—if Thorin deemed it fit, she would trust in his judgment, too.

"Do not be afraid," Gandalf had called out before riding away. "Just keep to the path!"

And so, Shadow took point, leading them cautiously along. This part of Mirkwood was alien even to her; though she had traversed the elven paths before, the sense of ancient dread that now pervaded was new. It clung to her scales and whispered of old, unspoken curses.

"How long does this go on?" asked Bifur, looking around, his brow furrowed in confusion as the rot seemed to seep into his very thoughts. Shadow could endure long enough—she was hewn from the heart of caves and caverns—yet nothing could have steeled her against the feeling of the forest's magic coursing through her like a poison. She needed to stay vigilant, not just for her sake, but for the entire company. The path was their lifeline, and she would ensure they clung to it.

Shadow shrugged. "I'm not certain. The path is overgrown in places, so it's hard to tell exactly where it leads," she admitted, her snout lifted high as if to catch any clue from the air. "But I can smell the end of the river," she added, sniffing intently.

She ducked to avoid a trailing vine, then halted abruptly before a gaping chasm. A frothy river below cut a glistening path, presenting an obstacle where the way forward should have been. She sighed; this wouldn't be easy.

Shadow unfurled her wings grandly and glanced back over her shoulder to the awaiting dwarves. "Come on, guys, climb aboard," she beckoned. The dwarves exchanged uncertain glances before Thorin, with a grunt, clambered atop her back, followed by Fili, Kili, Balin, Bifur, Bombur, Dwalin, and the others in quick succession. Bilbo found his seat snugly between her spiny ridges, and with the company secure, the great, beautiful Night Fury took to the air.

Carefully, Shadow balanced the weight and avoided the dense canopy above. With powerful, measured beats of her wings, she lifted the dwarves over the river—a shimmering obstacle soon left behind as they sought the path once more on the other side.

Soon, they reached another clearing, and with a graceful motion, Shadow permitted the dwarves to dismount. She investigated the area, trying to pick up the trail, pushing aside a carpet of leaves with a gentle gust from her nostrils. But the path eluded her, and as her large, purple eyes scoured the dim light, frustration welled up within her. She sucked in a deep, irritated breath. "Intriguing," she murmured, vexed by the disruption of the way.

But before she could ponder further on their next move, a swift, piercing pain lanced across her spine. Sinewy legs constricted around her, and she glimpsed multiple beady eyes, lustful and many, glittering with malintent. In the moment before darkness claimed her, she realized—spiders.

The world slipped into black, Shadow now cocooned in an unseen assailant's grip, leaving the dwarves to face the new danger that had befallen their protector. Their response to her ensnaring would have to be swift—if they hoped to bring her back from the clutches of Mirkwood's infamous, creeping doom.

~ ✻ ~

In the clutches of the sinister Mirkwood spider, Shadow's unconscious mind writhed with visions, a mixture of nightmare and memory. Beneath a canopy pierced by moonlight, she sat in isolation, observing a scene infused with deep-seated emotions.

There was Toothless, the only Night Fury—apart from herself—who had ever captured her heart, now entranced in a dance with Luna, a Light Fury whose presence stirred an unwelcome bitterness within her. This Light Fury's haughty manner and the rapt attention she received from Toothless and his human companion, Hiccup, only fanned the flames of her jealousy.

Shadow watched the duo initiate an intimate display, an ancestral courtship dance that wrenched at the coils of her spirit. Unable to contain herself, she swooped from her perch, her powerful wings cutting through the air, landing with a deliberate thud behind Luna. Shadow's fangs were bared, her pupils narrowed like slits, the purple glow of her ridges casting an ominous light.

With a snarl, she issued a command that drove the Light Fury into the water, oblivious to Toothless' shock and concern. Luna submerged, bubbles trailing her descent, while Toothless turned to face Shadow, his typically gentle eyes now aflame with both fear and indignation.

"Are you mad?! Release her at once!" he demanded, the urgency in his voice mirroring the tension that crackled in the glade.

Shadow's ephemeral gaze locked with that of Toothless', her simmering purple eyes reflecting a turmoil of emotion. Her pupils dilated, driven by a surging tide of anger that coursed through every vein.

The glade was pierced by a shrill cry emanating from the water, disrupting the dream sequence as Toothless' voice cut through the tension. "I said, release her!" His wings bristled with authority, an unyielding stance in the face of Shadow's wrath.

The venom in her heart spilled out, her low growl resonating within the dreamscape. But as the nightmare's grip loosened, her pupils softened, the luster returning to their usual mysterious glow. Luna burst forth from the water, soaked and gasping for air, before stumbling upon the sand.

With a hiss, Shadow retreated, and the world of her nightmare darkened further, shadows congealing into a thick fog around her. From jealousy and conflict, the dream twisted further into bleakness, a suffocating void that sought to trap her in its depths.

~ ✻ ~

Outside this internal tumult, reality pressed in—urgent and relentless. The dwarves, her friends, were fighting feverishly to free her from the spider's trap. Their tools tore through the sticky strands that bound her, their voices a lifeline pulling her back from the precipice of despair.

Just as the nightmare reached its apex, clinging to her with the persistence of true night, the combined efforts of her companions bore fruit in the waking world. The web gave way, unraveling, and the cocoon that ensnared her crumbled under the dwarves' resolve.

Shadow's senses rushed back to her. The nightmare, now severed from her mind like a severed web strand, dissipated into nothingness. Her eyes fluttered open, the purple in them glowing dimly as she regained consciousness and the familiar faces of her protectors came into view, blurred but present.

The terror of the dream was gone, banished by the light of camaraderie and the dawn of real-world senses. With a deep breath, Shadow shook off the last remnants of darkness from her sleep and prepared to face the forest of Mirkwood anew, surrounded by those who had refused to let her fall.