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Tharonwë
Tharonwë raised the first arrow to the bow and pulled the feathertip it to the string. This time would be real rather than his own thought. Why was that dog looking at him this time instead of at the others? Why were its hackles raised? No matter. The dog was as naught. He pulled the bow taut and aimed at the neck of the young blacksmith. Next moment he would release.
Before he could he heard a roar and the dog was upon him. Quickly he released, but his shot was awry and flew off course, and came home in the back of the blonde girl who had given up an ear to the Merlocks. He saw this even as the dog's weight knocked him off his feet. It growled with ferocity and menace.
The one handed wainwright caught his betrothed in his arms, his eyes wide in shock and fear. The arrow had pierced clear through her and her life's blood flowed its ending stream. But she smiled, looking into the wainwright's eyes.
"It will not be long love, till our wedding day." Her head fell back. The wainwright wailed. The others reacted, some coming to him, others to the pair.
He was standing, two arrows in one hand, the bow in the other, watching the two standing arm in arm, no wound upon either one. Had he imagined it all, again?
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