[piosenniel]

They moved through the dark like a shadowed mist, driven by the need to hunt – a three night journey from the bramble choked valley of Nan Curunír across the wide plains of The Mark, with only a small winter starved deer to take the edge from their hunger. The sour smell of the two-leggeds held them back from bringing down more prey as they crossed the snow covered grasslands, while the scents of horse and goat made their mouths slaver in anticipation.

Now they had reached the place Men called Entwade, and turned south, travelling once more in darkness. The forest that edged the smaller river as it flowed into the greater waters of the Entwash would give them shelter. They would rest for a span of the sun, hiding themselves from the day’s light. When the great yellow eye hung low on the horizon, and the rim of the world reached up to swallow it, they would cross the Snowbourne. Then, the hunt would begin.

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Carchmoroth raised his head from his massive paws to sniff the breezes from the south and west. Evening had not yet come. His yellow eyes glinted in the dim, filtered light of the sun beneath the thick bare branches of the trees. His ears swiveled to the southwest, picking up hints of sounds. He stood, and the hair along the back of his neck to his silvered shoulders rose as he growled a low warning. The pack raised their heads from the snowy lairs they had dug for themselves, their senses now on alert.

Dûrêl and Dúgoroth trotted to their father’s side. The faint scents of men and horses came to them. Fear, too. And the scent of blood. Now all the pack stood ringed about their leader as the other smell assailed them. Stiff legged, they drew back their lips from their long, yellowed fangs, snarling.

‘Another pack has hunted and has brought down a kill!’ growled Carmoroth. ‘Up, Wolves! Let us not come too late to the feasting.’

Ten wolves, six males, four females, loped under cover of the trees – dark grey wraiths in the forest’s twisty shadows, picking up speed as they trotted west along the northern bank of the Snowbourne. Before them went Carchmoroth, their silver-backed grey Warg leader, and behind them, driving them on at great speed, were two black furred Wargs, nipping at the heels of those who did not keep up the pace.

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They ran on silent feet along the northern shore of the Snowbourne. Still within the boundaries of the trees, Carchmoroth halted, his head swinging to the south, across the water. A single rider had crossed the river. Motioning Dúgoroth forward, they stood, silent watchers, as the Man and horse stepped from the icy river to the southern shore. The Warg, Dúgoroth, took three of the Wolves and crossed the river downwind of the horse and rider. The encounter was swift and brutal when they reached them.

The three wolves positioned themselves at the horse’s head, one before him and one to each side of his range of vision. Just out of striking distance of the horse’s deadly hooves, they harried the steed and drew his and his rider’s attention from the Warg approaching near the left flank. Deorlin slashed at the snarling, leaping wolves, sending one of them flying with a deadly blow.

Too late he saw the Warg lunge at the soft underbelly of the horse, his maw closing in on vital organs and ripping them from the horse’s belly in a spray of blood and gore. The horse stumbled and went down, sending Deorlin flying to the ground a number of feet away. Sword drawn, he fought to regain his stance, thinking to strike out at the Wolves which inched toward him.

The Warg growled once, and the Wolves retreated. ‘Pull the carcass beneath the trees you two.’ he said in a menacing voice. ‘I will drive the two-legged off. Not enough meat on his bones to bother with a kill.’ The Warg growled loudly at the man, his eyes ablaze with yellowed flames. He feinted in and out, tearing at the man’s legs and driving him back to mid-river, snapping savagely at his sword arm as he could. Oft times the blade bit at him, and he renewed the fury of his attack until the waters of the river pulled the man’s feet from under him, and he slipped away in the icy current.

The Warg and the remaining two Wolves followed the scent of their pack and ran swiftly to join them.

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Carchmoroth and Dûrêl led the remaining seven Wolves toward the scent of fresh kill. They approached the western boundary of the forest, halting again at a signal from the giant Warg. They forded the Snowbourne, swimming strongly to the southern shore, and trotted at full speed toward the southern boundary of the trees. A new scent of fresh prey had come to them with the shifting breezes, and they sought to find it.

Now there were seven two-legged creatures they saw and eight horses, skirting the edge of the forest, making their way south and east along the line of trees. ‘We shall make our own feast.’ spoke Carchmoroth to the pack, as he led them downwind of the horses.

They flanked the companions of the Mark from the rear and attacked at a run. The horses neighed wildly, their eyes flying wide as the Wolves bore down upon them. The riders were hard pressed by the suddenness of the attack and fought to control their steeds, which panicked and tried to run from the pursuit or reared up perilously to counter the foe.

Izrênna drove off one Wolf with her bow as Aelfritha and Malienna strove to control their horses, aiming mighty slashes at the remaining Wolves. The pack animal with them pulled loose from Aelfritha’s control and was driven far under the trees to meet its swift death by two of the Wolves.

The two Wargs harassed the other horses, speeding swift as shadows among them, tearing at their flanks as they could, and slashing at the legs of the men and women, even as the weapons of the riders cut them deeply.

The Dwarf held his ground strongly against the Wolf which sallied against him. Legs firmly planted in a wide stance, he swung his two handed great axe in a wide and deadly arc. The Wolf gashed the Dwarf’s right arm deeply with an unexpected lunge, then met his death from a well aimed down swing as he retreated to attack again.

Béowulf and Hading took Anglachel in hand and formed a fighting circle. The hindquarters of their mounts were nearly touching and their heads and deadly hooves faced out from the center in a deadly formation. Three Wolves circled them, rushing in as they could to nip and slash at the flesh of rider and mount.

Hading, his white armor, blazing in the sun, struck down one of the Wolves as it leapt at him - a mortal blow, which dropped the carcass to the unrelenting fury of his mount’s deadly hooves. Béowulf struck another Wolf, disabling the creature’s front leg. He held back his raging steed who sought to follow and strike at the limping Wolf.

Dúgoroth and his two Wolves had now joined the fray, and savaged the trio which had wounded one of their pack. Anglachel’s horse shied at the nearness of the Warg. Rolling his eyes in terror, the horse sought to bolt, and Béowulf pushed against the frightened animal with his and reached out to help the merchant steady his mount.

It was enough of an opening for the Warg and three remaining Wolves to cut Hading’s mount from the group and drive him beneath the trees. As before, three of the Wolves held the attention of the rearing and striking horse, while the Warg brought him down with a lunge to the soft belly.

The Wolves, in the frenzy of their hunting rage, turned their deadly attention to the fallen Hading. He cried out once, a mighty shout from the depths of his fearlessness, and smote a mortal blow with his blade to the nearest Wolf. Then were the other two upon him. His blood ran like a river over the green field of his cape, and never again was his fair voice heard in Rohan.

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Four Wolves were dead and one was limping on three legs, its bloodied foreleg hanging limp as it retreated from the attack. Carchmoroth called to the pack and they rallied to him, disappearing as a dark cloud beneath the shadows of the dense trees. They pulled the carcass of the dead pack horse with them, stopping only when the sounds and sights of the wounded were far behind them. They would eat well for a good while, and then move on.

[ January 06, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]