Deep in the woods, several feet from the mangled remains of a Shire pony Ragnarok rested. He curled in the roots of an ancient tree, unsure in the darkness if the others were near. They had also laid down to rest after devouring the animal but he neither knew nor cared how close they were.
He set about licking his wounds. He was cut in many places but at least he wasn't burned like the others. His worst wound was the arrow. A fragment of it's shaft still protruded from his thigh. He bend himself almost double to reach it. Steadily he clasped his jaws about the wood and pulled. The searing pain of the head ripping from his flesh made him want to let out a wolfscream but he could not loose the shaft until it was clear of his skin.
He continued to yank slowly, his pale eyes watering with the pain. Eventually he was free of it and it landed with a thud upon the brown snowless earth beside him. Blood spurted from the deep gash. Ragnarok writhed in agony. Even a full stomach was no solace at such a moment. He passed his rough tongue over the wound repeatedly. Not for Ragnarok a healer. He had nothing but time and the need to keep it clean. He kept up his licking for as long as possible but loss of blood and exhaustion soon had the better of him.
Sleep came to Ragnarok: sleep and thoughts of revenge.
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Auriel
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