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Dracomir was becoming rapidly bored by wasting his time in the presence of the boorish Frej and the disdainful Lola. When Frej began playing with his hair and singing, however, he stopped being bored and became bloodwhimperingly furious.
He endured, cold and silent, Frej's cacophonous ballad and pompous expostulations, and then turned away. Lola glanced after him, quizzical but mocking, yet her young swain did not rise to the bait and left without another pause.
Even had he felt like talking as he left the office, he would not have been able to. His passionate rage locked his tongue behind his teeth. His tread was becoming heavier, the determined grimness of his gaze ever more implacable...
Tom Felton was off to fulfil his appointment with Alli, long ago made, and other business called him too. As he loped into the cold air of the castle's parapet, his keen ears heard the far-off, echoing sound of the howl of a wolf...and, running his hand through his extending, darkening hair, he re-echoed it.
The wolf dashed along the rampart to one of the western side-gates, slipped through an ill-maintained portcullis and left the Castle of Roggie, and Mount Doom itself, behind it.
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