My warg is currently only two meters away, sleeping soundly.
This may well be a facade, since a moment ago I caught her on the kitchen table drinking my coffee.
Indeed, Eomer. Often my kinsfolk and I will wake to the little warg chewing on things: clothes, footwear, furniture, carpet, cats, books. My copy of The Lays of Beleriand will never be the same.
I fear this may be only a hint of things to come, however, and I hope to be out of the house when the caffiene kicks in.
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I drink Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters!
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Always remember: pillage BEFORE you burn.
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