Ragnarok rolled about on the snow like a happy pup. He was well fed for the first time in what felt like an age. His jolly behaviour was at odds with the horror that surrounded him.
The other two Wargs, Nimue and Roth still gorged themselves on troll carcass. The ground all about was churned up and stained a vile colour. Branches were snapped from overhanging trees. Fragments of troll skin flapped from them in the breeze. The coats of the wargs were matted with the blood of their victims. It was a nightmarish sight and yet in the centre Ragnarok gambolled like a dog a fraction of his age.
Barely a few minutes earlier he had thought himself about to die, now the whole world with all the evil that he took delight in was back in focus. He had found enough energy to attack. Need had made the difference. He was as content as a Warg is capable of. He was in his homelands. There was a ready supply of food. He was alive.
The others frolicked in the carnage with him. He had forgotten the hobbits, his stomach was full, his appetite satisfied, it was quite possible he need never think of them again.
__________________
Auriel
|