A lone figure was hunched down around a fire, gleaning warmth from it, though the cold bothered him not. He wore a dark and tattered cloak around his shoulders, the hood pulled up and hiding his wild red hair from the world. The cloak hid all his elven features, one may not be able to tell unless he stood up to his full height.

Amber eyes locked onto its prey, unblinking. The wolf crept slowly forward towards its prey, a doe and her wobbly legged fawn. The winter was harsh, the wolf was thin and starving. What most would consider cruel the wolf would deem necessary to feed her pups all huddled back in her den.

A Trip Home

Maurr son of Bóurr to Miss Taite Rushwood greeting!

Returned we are from Thorin’s Hall at long last, my honor-sister’s wedding complete. Forgive me for taking so long to contact you; I thought that after that business was over we would pass a relaxed winter and spring, but one thing has followed upon the other, and very busy we have turned out indeed.

Felt like things been going good, real good, with Missus Nettle lately. While there's still studyin' from the book, and I still struggle with the readin' and memorificatin' what's in it, now we come into spring more of the work is hands-on, or what Nettle calls 'practical'. And I always do better with that than I do with the talkin' and the tests.

What a lovely day. What a lovely day, indeed, Furley mused, as he looked at the fountain outside the Prancing Pony. Truth be told, he'd felt rather pleased with himself. He'd managed to contact Deorla, and together they'd hatched out a plan. He was tired of them being threatened and hunted, and now, something had snapped in him.