[Rose]

The great hound sped swiftly across the snow, slipping quietly beneath the outstretched branches of the firs as he reached the outer edges of the forest. This way! he told himself setting nose to ground to take up the scent of those he followed. A subtle scent, to be sure. But he found no difficulty in picking it out from all those which trailed across it.

He kept his eyes and ears alert. There was another scent, lingering in the night air. Foul it was, as if some bloated and decaying thing moved in his same direction. His hackles raised at the dark, evil stench of it, and in the ancient memories of his kind he felt a loathing and a hatred rise up against the curséd presence.

White Paw moved along the outskirts of this odious creature's path. Brave and big as he was, he knew he was no match for it. That must be left to those more powerful than he.

In caution, he’d circled around the two objects of his hunt, and now he came into their presence, just as the first surge and swell of shadowy fear crept toward them. They looked at him askance, but he walked slowly forward and stopping only a pace or two away, lowered his head as if in a bow.

My father sent me. To be your hound. To aid in the hunt and in the kill as I can.

He sniffed the leaden breeze, and bared his teeth at what it told him.

Seems, though, your quarry will soon find you. Still, as I heard you say, in the courtyard, you are your Master’s hounds . . . and in like will I be yours to see this hunt through to whatever doom may come for good or ill.