[Cimmerian]

Ooc, Thanks Manelwen. I hope this fits in.

After a hearty meal and content with a full belly after many a moon, Rulf-Armon, a great giant black wolf lay down on the dry grass by the sun splashed rocks. He was one of the last of his kind. Times were harsh for the great giant wolves that once flourished upon these lands.

As his eyes grew heavy thought of his days as an alpha wolf drifted into his mind. Those were great times, when he was leader of a pride of hundreds. Wraithlike illusions of his mate, the great alpha female Kaelin wafted in front of his minds eye, and he could hear the happy yelps of his sons and the high pitch joyous squeals of his daughter, the youngest pup in the litter.

And a great sorrow filled his heart, which was soon overcome by a surge of hatred towards those two-legged beasts that have flying claws and teeth which they launch at their target from hiding. Having no knowledge of their true intent and justification in hunting all of the wolf kind, he had a great loathing and fear of these beings and his reaction at every confrontation with them was that of hatred and blood lust. He had savagely attacked any such being that seemed threatening to him without remorse, often escaping with minor injury.

As his mind, in great turmoil replayed cherished memories amidst dreaded ones he looked up and peered towards what seemed like a collective movement of beings. He sprang up, all thought of his grief-stricken past now gone from his mind, and silently but briskly ran forward.

He moved at a great pace, yet made no sound, for his instincts made it clear to him that these beings were definitely in league with the ones that had lain waste his kin years ago and were now onward to deliver a fate similar to others like him. This would not come to pass if he could have any deed in it.

Now approaching a cave where these two legs had entered he pads ahead cautiously. Suddenly a cry comes to ear, a cry so familiar yet so distant, like something from an age long past. But the scent that he sensed made him clear his mind, a scent all too familiar and unmistakable. His heart races wild as he darts ahead, “no fear, no caution, no mercy.”

But as he turns the corner, his blood seems to freeze. There were too many of the savage two legs for him alone and they carried large pointed sticks, each alone capable of skewering him through the entire length of his great body.
And these ones are much bigger and uglier than the ones he hated so much. Could they be such things far worse than his Elvin nemesis?
He silently backs away as more men emerge from the cave, carrying with them a sight that fills his mind with fear and then rage. Emitting a low growl, he slinks out of sight.

The two-legs, whom he will find to know as the race of men, were a new feature for him. But he knew that they were just as bad as or far worse than the other ones, the ones that were known as the Elves. He watched the men make off with their prize and decided to follow them at a safe distance, keeping to the shadows.

They take their captive into what seems like a great many dwellings of the two legs, he follows them to the outskirts of this settlement and decides to hide nearby and wait until the Great Fire Above would sleep.

[ April 30, 2002: Message edited by: Cimmerian ]