Bilbo didn’t think he would wake up in the morning. He certainly didn’t want to wake up in the morning. What he became fully aware of when he was waking up was the biting and mind-numbing pain in his stomach and stinging of his left cheek. He was really, really hot. As far as he could tell, he was in agony.
In the night, he had somehow managed to roll on his side so his back faced the company and his knife wound was elevated. Most of the Company were awake, Balin, Dori Bombur and Goin were still asleep, and occupied themselves by talking, cooking and checking on wounds from last night. None were too bad.
Ori, Bombur, Gloin, Dori and Kili suffered minor bruises here and there; Nori, Fili, Dwalin, Balin and Bifur just had a few scraped and cuts. Bofur, however, was possibly the worst off of all the dwarves. He had been majorly outnumbered by Orc’s, 5 to 1. His arm had been sliced open and ran from his elbow to his wrist but thankfully wasn