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Sam watched the two dwarves conferring while he caught his breath. He guessed what the red-headed dwarf probably told Erling. Although no more than a blacksmith, and not used to such goings on, he could see through a brick wall in time, as the saying went. Another chorus of howls rose and fell in the distance and his lips thinned. Surely he could hear through one as well.
Although revolted at the sight of Grimbeorn’s mangled corpse, a wave of relief had swept over him at the discovery of what really lay behind the attacks in Bree. While his heart pounded with fear at least he did not feel the horror of knowing one of their own assailed them.
He turned his head to see the shadowy shapes of the Winkles. They looked to be calmer now, especially Miss Leanora. But they would have their little brother to worry about. He loosened the leaf-shaped steel blade he’d forged only last year and reached over his shoulder to count the arrows in the quiver under his cloak. Making his silent way to the two dwarves and Erling, he spoke softly so the boy would not overhear.
“Not that it’s easy to tell over all the noise we’ve made, but I’d bet a gold piece the last calls were closer.” He straightened to his full four feet height and spoke quietly but firmly. “Now, tell us what these wargs don’t like before they get here. I don’t fancy ending up like Grimbeorn.”
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