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Rowan blinked in surprise, her brow furrowing at the curt way in which she’d been addressed. She’d not done anything, she thought, that he could be so upset. She drew one step closer and poked him firmly in one hunched up shoulder.
‘And what’s got into you, my fair tongued singer of yester eve? Did you roll out of bed on the wrong side?’ Quite put off by now, she stamped her foot impatiently as she waited for him to turn.
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But Huan the hound was true of heart, and the love of Lúthien had fallen upon him in the first hour of their meeting; and he grieved at her captivity . . .
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