In the dark the rustling of bushes could be heard as Dinengel dashed through the forest. Heavily panting as the air passed through his scarred throat, Dinengel dodged around trees trunks and hurtled over shrubs. Some distance off the weighty cantering of heavy paws could be heard amongst a deep menacing growl.
The fell wolves of Angmar were more adept at tracking than Dinengel had initially predicted, a mistake which the haggard Ranger was now deeply regretting. Mere minutes ago, Dinengel was progressing steadily on foot to the safe haven of his kindred, bearing news of the fell threat of wicked men. Before he had time to react, a warg of the dark northern lands had taken him by surprise. The wargs fur was adorned with markings similar to that of the Hillmen tribe Dinengel had encountered the day before, leading him to the assumption that this beast must have been set loose to ensure his demise.
Dinengel lacked the means to dispatch the beast quickly, as his most well versed tool, surprise, was out of the question. Also, Dinengel only had access to his off-handed hunting dagger, as well as a handful of throwing knives. He had expended his supply of the small spiked caltrops when first he encountered the warg, and they proved to have little effect when the fanged mongrel vaulted over them with ease. His only option was to flee, and perhaps prolong his existence until some other element came into play.
After fleeing for several minutes at a full sprint, Dinengel was beginning to give in to his fatigue. Still hearing the beast approaching from several hundred feet behind, Dinengel chose to stop, and face the beast head on. Drawing his broad-bladed dagger in his right hand, Dinengel set his feet apart in a wide stance, bracing himself for the onslaught. From the darkness, Dinengel could see the silhouette of the great wolf. It stepped into the small clearing where Dinengel stood firm. The moonlight illuminated all around the two, as the warg leaped forward at its prey.
