The queen of the forgotten kingdom

Prolouge

The Mirkwood was dark. Dark and silent.
There was no bird, you could hear, no wind rustled in the branches of the big gloomy trees and the moon sadly looked down at the battlefield. The grass was pressed flat and the ground was blood-soaked. Human, wolves and mixed beings of both lied there, scattered, and dead.
The battle had been awful. An ambush.
Two little wolf pups hid in the undergrowth. Rigid they starred at the bodies of their dead congenial. They, for themselves, were alive and only one of them was hurt, but both were shed with the blood of their family.
The bigger one gasped panic-struck for breath. A broken arrow stuck in his belly. Although he was only six years old, he knew what would come. Death.
He poke his sister. She should follow him. He guided her to a little stream, which he had scents a while ago, and both begann to wash the blood and the dirt out of their fur.
The water went red.
Then they went on to lick their wounds. There wasn't much time left for the boy. The injury was too severe but he didn't mind. He and his sister were safe now and that was all that counts at the moment.
Suddenly he heard something. It looked like the the she-wolf had heard it to because she winced.
So he didn't just imagine it.
Too bad.
He raised his nose and snuffled.
There.
He could scent it. The smell he hated more than anything.
Elves