[Belin]

Remdil missed it all. His uncle would chide him for it later as a disgraceful lapse of his bouncerly duties, but how was he to know there would be another fight? After the last one, he'd been worried about the chickens (one of the men in the fight had betrayed a certain liking for eggs, and another had kept harping on the survival virtues of the beasts) and had gone outside to make sure they were still there.
In fact, he was right. One of the walls had been severely damaged by someone who had apparently chosen that moment for his exit. Remdil vowed once again that he would someday learn to walk more quietly.

At the moment, however, the chickens were escaping, and so there was the difficult business of catching them, the irritating task of repairing their coop, and the puzzling matter of what to do with them in the meantime. Unable to think of anything better, he'd deposited them in the kitchen (much to the chagrin of the cooks, who were all a little afraid of Remdil's booming voice and looming bulk) and spent the last couple of hours nailing together boards in the dark and muttering to himself in terms that should have embarrassed the stars.

Now he was finished. He snorted to himself in satisfaction, proud of the task he'd accomplished, and headed back toward the kitchen.

Suddenly, he stopped. Was that a wolf he smelled?