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"No I don't suppose any of us would fancy getting squashed by anything including a table" replied the Elf, smiling gently. Suddenly her eyes seemed to fix on a point just behind Astilwen who had just time enough to ponder the quiet command not to be frightened before she felt something wet behind her. Leaping off the bench in fright she screamed and whirled around, coming face to face with something she had only ever heard described in fireside tales, meant to scare hobbit children off to bed.
"His name is Nimrómen, a wolf cub barely a year old"
She heard the Elf speaking to her and tried to concentrate, finding it a little difficult with the wolf looking right at her with his oddly coloured eyes. But as she calmed a little from her fright she began to take in the beauty of the creature before her, the wolf's fur really was the purest of whites and his stare seemed to contain curiosity rather than malice. Shakily she moved to sit down on the bench, hoping her legs would keep stable til she got there. Having sat she took a few deep breaths and called up again to the Elf.
"He's only a year old? He's big! Is he yours?"
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“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”
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