Mithiel padded forward toward the wolf, her fur on edge. Livid adrenaline rushing through her veins, mixing with blood, the brave blood of her proud ancestry of Hunting Dogs, keen in scent and eyesight.
"You are on dangerous ground Warg," She growled to the wolf, cirling her, "This is my land, my peole, my territory. Go back to the woods where you belong, daughter of Thu."
The wolf sat up in reply. Though she was much bigger than the grey hound, Mithiel was not afraid to stand her ground. The wolf had spoken to her misstress, a grave mistake in itself. Wargs were dangerous to people, and Mithiel was not afraid to defend them. She waited for the warg's reply, gnashing her teeth in anger at the wolf...
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Snow white! Snow White! O' Lady Clear! O' Queen Beyond the Western Seas!
O' light to us that wander here amid the world of woven trees!
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