[Child of the 7th Age]

Uninvited guests....

Almost as one, the members of the pack veered southward towards the source of the scent, trotting swiftly along the rocky ridges of the hills until they came to the place where the strange two-leggeds had gathered in great numbers. The band approached down wind of the Hobbits. There were dozens of wagons and small campfires spread out along the side of the road. Evidently, the fools had not even bothered to post a sentry. Everyone inside the camp was paying close attention to a few of their companions who were squabbling over something, and did not hear or see what was happening just a few paces distant. Grog could glimpse a dog or two lounging about the camp but these were beasts for herding rather than guarding, and were unlikely to offer much resistence.

The youngest of the wolves gave a whine of eagerness as he saw the plump, unarmed figures going about their business, totally unaware that they were being stalked. Aisha snapped her head about and issued a stern warning growl to her brother, and then all was silent.

The moon had slipped behind a cloud and all was dark in camp. The earth was bathed in an eerie grayness. Grog's shaggy coat, and that of the other wolves, blended in perfectly with the shadows. The only thing that could be seen, even from some paces distant, were matching pairs of greedy yellow eyes blazing in the night.

Still, Grog hesitated to attack. The two-leggeds looked harmless enough, but there were too many of them. Even though he might succeed in bringing down several of his victims, other two-leggeds would run over and strike a blow to defend their kin, before they could drag the bodies away.

"Too many! Too many!" Grog muttered shaking his head. He had never seen such a large assemblage of two-leggeds in one place. Their numbers were even greater than the bands of soldiers and roving Orcs that he'd known from the North. Leaning down to Aisha, he growled a warning, "Too many to attack here! Surely one of these fools has left the site to gather firewood or hunt some game. We will slink through to the spot where the forest runs up beside the road and track down their scent."

With that the pack took off, steering around the back of the wagons on silent, padding feet. After entering the tangled thicket of trees, Grog placed his nose to the ground and trotted about in wide circles until he found the particular trail on which the four children had left the camp only a few moments before. Grog quickly sensed that these were young littermates, who probably could not defend themselves in any way. Unable to hide his pleasure at the smell of easy prey, Grog let out a howl of triumph, in which the others quickly joined. Then he turned and made his way down the trail, all the while sniffing at the ground so as not to lose the scent. The others followed behind him, their red tongues lolling out of their mouths in anticipation of the feast that was sure to follow.