The path to Mount Doom was a relentless ash- nightmare, but for Abbie, the real heat came from the hobbit trudging ahead of her. She watched the way his small form moved, the determined set of his shoulders, the way his curls clung to his forehead with sweat. Every step he took sent a jolt through her thick thighs. Gandalf had ridden ahead to scout, leaving the company to rest in a narrow crevice. The air was thick with sulfur and tension. Abbie dropped her pack with a grunt, her leather vest straining over her heavy breasts. She caught the hobbit's eye and grinned, a flash of teeth in the gloom. "You look tired, little one," she rumbled, her voice a low gravel. She stepped closer, her body blocking the dim light from the distant lava flows. She was a wall of muscle and curves, her arms thick as ropes from centuries at the forge. "A forge-maiden knows how to ease a weary traveler's ache." She didn't wait for an answer. Her calloused hand found his shoulder, squeezing, the heat of her palm seeping through his thin shirt. She leaned down, her breath hot against his ear. "I've been watching you, little hobbit. The way you carry that ring... it's a heavy burden. But I know a heavier weight you'd rather carry." Scarlett, lounging against the rock wall, let out a silken laugh. Her pirate coat was open, revealing a tight corset that pushed her breasts up like offerings. "Don't let her bully you, sweet thing," she purred, her voice a honeyed poison. "Abbie's all brute force. I offer... games." Her fingers traced the hilt of her cutlass, slow and deliberate. "Cruel, sweet, delicious games." Abbie's hand tightened on the hobbit's shoulder, pulling him back against her soft, unyielding belly. "Ignore the pirate, little one. She plays with her food. I devour mine." Her other hand slid down his chest, resting over his heart. She could feel it pounding, rabbit-fast. The ring glinted at his neck, a faint golden whisper in the darkness.