The Silmarillion ll: Of Wolves And Men

Chapter One, In Which Beruthiel Finds A Beastie

The trees rustled in the dusk, a leafy murmur, soft and peaceful. A jay perched in the boughs of a low oak, and a hare pricked it's ears and leaped away as a stag picked his silent way through the undergrowth.

Far above, in the rosy hued sky, a hawk wheeled and let out a piercing cry, soaring down to her nest.

The jay chirped quietly to himself, his beady eyes alert. A mouse skittered by in the leaves below him, and the buck dipped his regal head to drink from a pebbly brook. With a subdued rustle of feathers, the jay flitted across the stream. The deer lifted his noble head, his large ears flickering forward as the bird passed, then lowered his muzzle again to the cool water. The jay alighted in a bramble thicket, searching for a few late insects while keeping watch.

Suddenly he gave a shrill cry, whirring into the air, warning the forest creatures. The stag bounded away into the shadows with a flick of his tail, and the rabbit dove for it's warren.

The forest was silent and peaceful, but the jay was no fool. He had seen the shadow rustle in the dappled evening light.

With another screech he winged his way through the trees, warning the forest creatures that danger was near.

Danger! Danger!

A figure emerged from the undergrowth on the bank of the brook and leaped gracefully across with a ripple of fabric that revealed the glint of a sword hilt.

Danger!

The figure paused, crouching in the bank, and brushed a leaf away from the buck's hoof-print. Then it straightened and melted soundlessly into the trees.

All was quiet.

For a minute.

For five minutes.

For ten minutes.

The hare's nose appeared in the entrance of it's den, wiggling as it scented the breeze. Just as it tentatively emerged another inch, four white paws loped past and it retreated hastily, trembling with fear.

The paws belonged to a wolf.

A wolf who slipped silently through the trees, sniffing and tracking, just as the cloaked figure who preceded her.

The faint smell of smoke and herbs clung to the ground—like a lit beacon to her keen lupine senses. The ranger had been here recently.

She pricked her ears and crept through the undergrowth, her pawsteps silent.

                             >>———> • <———<<

Beruthiel trudged through the forest in the dim twilight. The forest seemed never-ending, and she knew she wouldn't get to Bree before nightfall. She wasn't too keen about it—locals said that these woods were infested with strange things.

She'd heard reports of a huge wolf prowling the area, and had been dispatched from Fornost to make sure it didn't do any harm. Unfortunately, her horse had been killed by a rogue band of orcs a few leagues back and she'd had to walk very, very fast.

Beruthiel suddenly stopped and whirled around, the sword sliding easily out of her scabbard. She'd heard something, a very, very quiet thing. It wasn't her. She'd mastered the art of moving unseen and unheard. Nearly. Beruthiel wasn't one to believe folktales and stories, but the forest was dark and she was nervous. What if the demons that were rumored to live here, did? She mentally cursed herself for being so childish and looked around in the deepening gloom.

"Show yourself," she called out, not really expecting an answer.

After all, why would a demon answer her with anything other than ripping out her throat?