<sub>He had known her as much as she would allow him to know her. She was the fox and he was the wolf, larger in size and demeanor, calmer and full of years that she had yet to even touch. He ran with his own pack, leading it with each call and thought. What was she to him but the woodland fox? 

She was, of course, hanging from the branch that appeared to be snapping with the pull of gravity and her own weight. Her ironclad grip was slipping against her bodies will, her nails breaking as they dug into the bark, taking the risk she lunged a hand forward to his own that was outstretched from above.

The motion proved too wild for the branches strength and it snapped the instant she jerked upwards. Outstretched fingers did not even graze his own. 

Tauriel closed her eyes; she was afraid. She had met many foes in battle, steel and armor, arrows and spears — she had not thought she would find her end because of a tree branch and a plunge to the Earth.</sub>