The feeling of being watched had made him wary. He had barely slept in the last two days, staying up late into the night to feed the camp fires they made. Light to hold back the darkness that seemed ready to press in on them. Twice in the late watches of the night, he thought he had seen a pair of yellow eyes watching from the safety of the trees. But only for a moment and then they were gone. He kept his counsel to himself, knowing the others had dismissed his infrequent sightings as surely something harmless. Now they were passing through the Gap. Perhaps his dark mood would lift when the threat of riders from the Riddermark was left behind.
Catnapping in the saddle, at the end of the line, as they plodded along, he almost missed the subtle signs his mount was giving. The horse’s ears twitched wildly. His nostrils flared and he looked about with wild, wide opened eyes. Nervous energy caused the horse to prance a little then rear up, almost throwing him to the ground.
Aldwulf came wide awake as he grabbed for a hold on the reins. Drawing his sword, his eyes flicked to the direction in which the horse pawed the air. Down from the hills, running beneath the trees, Aldwulf could see four dark grey figures bent on intercepting them. Tongues hanging red from between their great yellowed teeth. Lips curled back in ghastly grins of anticipation.
‘Wargs!’ he yelled as he reined in his mount, fighting to keep him from running wildly away . . .
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’
– Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age'
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