[Undómë]

‘The battle, it would seem, is now full on . . .’

Old Goody reached down to the hound beside her and gave him a reassuring scratch between the ears. He whined a little, though not from fear. She could feel the current of excitement running just beneath his skin.

‘You’d like to be out there, wouldn’t you?’ she whispered down to him. ‘It’s where you belong isn’t it, old fellow. You were born to run the prey to ground and rend him limb from limb.’ The old hound thumped his tail hard and shivered with the anticipation of the hunt; the smell of blood, the taste of it strong in his memory.

She straightened up in her chair and let her gaze rest on the two tall men. The stood in the middle of the room, a quietness about them. Their forms reflected a certain ease despite the tumult in the courtyard of the inn and in their faces a surety of hope reposed.

‘The others have taken their place in the battle,’ she spoke aloud, watching them closely as their eyes slid to consider her. ‘Why are you not among them?’