In the dead silence of the night, where only the chilling song of the wind echoed in the maze-like caves, there stood Gollum, his bulbous eyes glinting in the feeble starlight. He was as still as the stone he stood upon, his breath hitching every now and then, the only sign that he was not an eerie fixture of the cave. His frail, skeletal silhouette was twisted in what seemed like a stance of deliberation, his eyes ever watchful, never resting.

Suddenly, he broke into a convulsive fit of whispers, like the rapid rustling of dried leaves, his words dancing in rhythm with the chilling breeze.

Nasty hobbitses, tricksy hobbitses,

he muttered to himself, his voice a harsh, rasping whisper that echoed off the cave walls. His fingers twitched and contorted, scraping against each other in an unsettling mimicry of a predator's claws.

A sudden ripple of emotion swept across his grotesque face, twisting his already warped features into an expression of longing and despair.

We misses the Precious, doesn't we, precious?

he croaked, a low, guttural sound reverberating through the silent cavern. His voice echoed, filling the vacant spaces of the cave with a chorus of eerie whispers that seemed to play hide and seek with the shadows.

And then, the twisted creature's head snapped up, eyes wide and gleaming with a terrible light. A manic grin crawled over his features, his face alight with some sudden realization.

Yes, yes! We will finds it, the precious. Clever Sméagol knows how, yes he does, gollum!

His voice rose, bouncing off the cavernous walls, drawing a symphony of echoes.

His low, rasping laugh filled the hollow cave, echoing ominously. He then fell silent, his grotesque silhouette fading back into the darkness of the cave, the only remaining trace of his presence being the disconcerting echo of his laughter.

Suddenly, a distant sound reached Gollum's ears, and his face changed. He tensed, his eyes narrowing into suspicious slits.

Who comes, gollum?

he growled, baring his teeth.