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White Paw glanced toward the cat and then up to the little brown bird. Saucy thing! But wise in his own way to realize the threat of a common danger might not overcome ages of natural instinct.
The hound had finished convincing his father he meant it when he said the old fellow would not be going out to stand against the wolves. He’d even bared his teeth and growled at his father to emphasize his point. ‘You’ll only distract me from the fight if you insist on going out. I cannot fight effectively if I have to worry about what is happening to you. More lives will be lost if my attention is divided.’ His father’s eyes had blazed briefly at his son’s commanding demeanor and words. Then he’d dipped his head slightly and turned away from White Paw, seeking a spot to lie down near the fire.
Two of his brothers went with White Paw to the outer perimeter of the grounds on which The Green Man stood. On silent, quick feet they made their way to a little thicket of scrubby oak that grew on a small rise at the western edge. The three burrowed into a tangle of bare brushwood dusted with snow that sheltered at the edge of the trees.
On the eastern side, they saw the dark form of a great bear disappear into the shadows of a rocky outcropping. The two groups of outposted sentries would harry the wolf pack from behind, pushing them toward the arrows of the Halflings and the devices of the bigger birds.
In his mind’s eye, White Paw kept the images of the two tall men. Should the other defenses fail, they had promised to stand against the coming Dark....
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