[Rinurion]

As the rest of the party slumbered, Gurthden slowly pondered his fate. He had taken first watch, as he often did, wanting some time to think, some time away from other people. He had always liked to spend time thinking of things, even when he was a child. But the last few nights had been different. He had been given somthing real to think about.
That old hag, he cursed silently. As much as he tried to banish them, Aspida's words flooded through his head …your doom is near... A voice in his head admonished him for blaming the messenger, but he ignored it. She was just an old hag trying to rile me he decided. But then how does she know about my secret… and why do her words bother me still?.
A sudden rustling in the bushes pulled him out of his reflection. His eyes snapped to a large shadow behind some tall grass to his right. A wolf he concluded. It will cause no trouble unless it is really hungry. By its size, he somehow doubted that it was. Gurthden had lived in the woods for all his childhood, and had learned that wolves had no interest in killing humans, and were animals to be respected, not feared. He settled back, keeping an eye firmly on the wolf, but not acting.
As the wolf crept slowy forward, he realised it was hunting something. Curios, he moved silently forward to get a better view. It was then he realised there was something wrong. The wolf was impossibly large, its pearly teeth were too white and too sharp, and its eyes had a very menacing quality under the moonlight.
Suddenly it pounced, a blur of teeth and fur. Its quarry turned, too late. When the moonlight hit the poor creature, just before the wolf did, gurthden realised what it was, and the wave of shock and grief brought him to his knees. A woman he anguished, little more than a girl. She stands no chance.
With practiced ease he cleared his sword from its scabbard, but he knew he would be too late. He choked out a sob of horror, as he saw the wolf tearing at her flesh. As quickly as it had begun, it was finished. Tears flooded into the eyes of the grim, silent rider of the mark.
But then, beyond all hope, he saw the young woman, not the wolf rise from the carnage. Blinking, he saw that she was tall, and had an air of maturity about her. By the blood streaming down her arm, he was unsurprised when she slumped down again, unconsious.
He rushed over to her, his mind reeling at the fact that the wolf had attacked. As he looked down at the wolf, a jolt of realisation swept through him. This was no wolf, he shuddered, it was a Warg. And wargs don’t hunt alone.