Ravenhold was built as a defense against Skraeg attacks through the mountain pass leading through the Axeweaver mountains to Rosenguarde. Because it acted as a safe place for river travelers to stop as they continued their journey along the Great Dragon through the mountain range, it quickly became a small city. Built into the pass itself, there were three walls; the eastern side having two walls with a growing secondary city between them, and the one western wall. The eastern walls faced the pass where Skraeg, or another invading army would have to travel from; as well as the Great Dragon river, and the western wall faced the pass leading to Rosenguarde.
When Broan's merchant boat landed at the dock, the river was becoming increasingly swift and treacherous. A heavy thunderstorm pelted the crew with rain, and flashes of lightning lit the mountainous terrain through which they passed—as it had for three days following the attack by bandits in the Borderwood. Now the storm had grown terrible over the past few hours, and with night fallen, everyone aboard the boat was pleased they would be able to disembark and find shelter and a warm meal in Ravenhold. Kendrick sat in the small cabin where Kieran lay wrapped in warm blankets up to the neck, shivering uncontrollably, her face and reddish brown hair drenched in sweat, and pale as a ghost. Kendrick heard, as he wiped sweat from the womans face, the shouts of the men outside, and orders barked by Broan amidst the sound of heavy rain and thunder as they struggled to secure the boat to the dock in choppy waters. Kieran had come down with fever the first day of the storm as she struggled to help the men, as well as cared for the wounded. She took care of Kendrick as well; the blow he took to the head caused him to become sick when the choppy waters had begun. He rubbed the back of his head—it was still very tender but the dizziness had ceased, and although it still throbbed if he turned too quickly or took a heavy step, he was none the worse for wear.
"How is she?" Broan asked as he entered the cabin.
"No better," he replied, shaking his head in worry.
"Well let's get her into Ravenhold and out of this cold wet weather. I've placed Durinald in charge of securing our wares, he and the rest will follow when that's finished." He bent down and lifted Kieran, wrapped in blankets. She almost looked like a child in the big man's arms. She murmured something incoherent as she shivered. "There, there, Kieran," Broan spoke softly. "You're going to be just fine. We're at Ravenhold now. We're going to get you someplace warm." He motioned for another blanket, and Kendrick found one which he lay over her in Broan's arms. "I want to keep her as dry as we can until we get her indoors." The big man said, and motioned for him to follow.
"Should I stay and help the men?" Kendrick asked.
"No, they'll be fine," the river merchant said. "You seem to have a good bedside manner. And I think Kieran would like to know you looked after her. Durinald will see that the wounded men are helped off the boat as well." Kendrick nodded, and followed him off the boat onto the docks. Soldiers stood watch at the docks, despite the weather, and he saw a few more walking to and from the pass that led up a gentle rise to the tall stone walls ahead. Broan walked and bent his body over Kieran, trying to shield the feverish woman from the weather as Kendrick walked beside him. The great wooden gates stood open to allow the merchant and his crew into the city, and would close again as soon as they were all within the walls, and they entered Ravenhold where Broan hurriedly led the way up a muddy road to the closest inn. Kendrick held the door open for him and they stepped inside. An old man stepped from behind the counter upon seeing them, and recognizing the big merchant came forward to speak with him.
"Kieran's terribly sick, Haren," Broan said as the thin man came forward and placed a hand on her face.
"She's burning up, Broan." The thin, grey haired man said looking up at him. "I'll have a couple of the girls get her out of those clothes and into something warmer. But first," he continued, "let's get her upstairs and into a bed." His brown eyes searched the common room of the inn, and he called for two of his tavern maids to follow, giving orders as they climbed the stairs for blankets, warm clothing for Kieran, and a number of other things as Kendrick followed. When the sick woman was placed in a bed, the two tavern maids hastened the three men out the door so they could change her clothing. Broan mentioned to the innkeeper that they would need lodging for his crew, and Haren told him that a few of them would have to share rooms because the weather had brought some extra business to the inn, but he should be able to accommodate them all. Kendrick mentioned he would sleep on the floor in Kieran's room.
"She's looked after me a couple times now, I'd like to repay the favor," he added. Haren mentioned they could probably find a pallet and some warm blankets to put on the floor and Kendrick thanked him.
"At present," Haren spoke to Broan. "Let's get something warm in your stomachs while the women tend to Kieran. I'll have my cook throw something together for your men as well. They're likely to be hungry." When they returned downstairs, Kendrick looked around, noticing for the first time the sawdust covered floor and tables spaced throughout the room. Men and women talked quietly as they ate or drank, and Kendrick overheard a few rumors of "the Long Winter, assuredly this is," and "just north of the Axeweaver, we witnessed the worst blizzard in years—especially this early in the season—why it's truly not even winter yet!" He also heard, "temples burned to the ground with the priests still in them," as well as, "some priests have flat out disappeared," and "the Great Hunting perhaps? Dark times these days, I tell ya." He had himself witnessed from afar the burning of a temple when the merchant boat stopped in Ulrich, and he nearly froze to death in the blizzard and was rescued just outside Riverway. He thought of the letter he carried for Donnagan, and worried for the safety of his High Priest and brothers in the Danir temple. He had not heard of the priests disappearing, but knew some of the rumors were true, and believed in his heart that the Long Winter truly was upon them—what terrible hardships would it bring in the future?
Durinald and the others soon came through the door, the young looking bearded blond with bits of grey in his hair coming forward to speak with Broan. "The rain's beginning to turn to ice out there," he mentioned. "The boat's secure, as well as the cargo. How's Kieran?"
"She's upstairs with some women tending to her now," Broan answered. "Kendrick will be looking after her shortly. She's bad with fever." He shook his head. "Make sure the men eat well, Durinald. They deserve it."
"I'll do that, Broan." Durinald turned to Kendrick and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Help her anyway you can, Kendrick. We've come to rely on her, and the whole crew cares very deeply for her. She's like a sister to us all, especially to Broan," he nodded at the big man.
"I'll do what I can. I'll see about getting some medicinal herbs brewed into a hot tea, if the owner of this inn has or can acquire some for me. And I'll have to keep her warm." He looked at the two men and added, "Other than that, I can also pray for her. And I encourage you two to do the same."
"Well, you know I'm not completely sold on the idea of prayer," Durinald said. "But I'll do so anyway." Kendrick smiled at the blond man and thanked him.
"Whether you believe it or not, Durinald, the One God will hear you."
Soon after eating a small meal himself, Kendrick hurried upstairs to Kieran's room, where he sat in a wooden chair in candlelight, again wiping sweat from her heated brow. She moaned and shivered and occasionally spoke quietly through her dreams as Kendrick read quietly to her from The Teachings. He had been praying, and felt that perhaps, just hearing the words from the book might calm her and give her comfort, so he read as he wiped her brow, and occasionally placed his hand upon her head to judge her temperature...
Little Kieran had just reached her fifth birthday; the sun was shining warm and a cool breeze gently brushed the tall grasses as she danced and played amongst the wildflowers while chasing butterflies. The clouds above, resembling thin stretched cotton, slowly sailed across the blue late morning sky, occasionally slightly dimming the the sun as they passed before it. She giggled joyfully as a butterfly with black, red, and blue markings landed softly upon her little nose causing her wide blue eyes to momentarily cross. When she tried to grab the butterfly in her tiny hands it fluttered away just out of her reach. "Hey you bubberfwy," she giggled. "Come bag here!" She felt a rumble and heard a low grumble, and placed her hands on her stomach. "Hungwy," she said with a laugh. Mommy was usually awake by now and breakfast served but today Kieran was up before her this morning. Finally becoming bored after waiting so patiently for her to awaken, she decided it would be much more fun to play with the butterflies she watched from the window inside. And so she did just that. But now a tiny frown played upon her lips—she was tired of waiting and would wake Mommy for breakfast. Running back to the small cottage, she reached up to grasp the door's handle and pushed it open. She walked to Mommy's bed and placed both hands on her mother's cheeks. Mommy sure was warm today! "Wake up, Mommy." She smiled as her mother's blue eyes slowly opened to look into hers. "I'm hungwy."
"G'morning Sweetie," her mother said quietly. "I'm afraid Mommy can't right now. Do you know where the sweetbread is?" Kieran nodded. "Good Sweetie—tear off—as big a piece of sweetbread as you want—and let Mommy sleep a while longer. When you're done with the sweetbread—run over to Harilie's home—bring her here, alright?"
"Awright, Mommy."
"Now go on, Sweetie—go get your sweetbread." Kieran turned to find the sweetbread, and her mother gently grabbed her hand and held her there for just another moment. "I love you, Kieran."
"I know, Mommy, "Kieran smiled. "I luvoo too." And then she turned to find the sweetbread. Afterwards, as her mother continued to sleep she made her way to the next house in the village, and knocked on the door. A short plump woman with graying dark hair answered the door.
"Well hello, Kieran!" She exclaimed with a smile bending down to hug the the little girl. "What brings you here this fine morning?"
"Mommy is still sweeping, and wanted me to bwingoo over."
"Sweeping? Does she need help with the cleaning, lass?"
"No no no no," Kieran giggled. "She still sweeping in bed!"
"Oh dear—I hope she's alright." Harilie had a worried look upon her face, but quickly masked it, and bent low with wink in her kind brown eyes. "You know I have some sweetbread on the table?" Kieran was delighted and giggled. Two sweetbreads today!
"Can I hab some?" the little girl asked.
"Of course you can! Now you go sit down at the table, and I'll go see your mommy."
But Mommy never got out of bed that day. She went to sleep and traveled to the heavens, Harilie had told her, just as her father had traveled to the heavens a year before. Kieran wasn't sure what that meant exactly at her young age—but something in her heart told her Mommy wasn't going to be coming back. And she cried and cried, burying her little face into Harilie's embrace as she instinctively knew Mommy would not be hugging her again.
"Mommy!" Kieran cried aloud in her sleep.
"Oh my," Kendrick said quietly, as he wiped her brow. "There, there, Kieran. Rest easy now. Seems we both lost family at a young age."
"She was raised by a caretaker woman named Harilie, in Riverway." Kendrick turned at the sound of Broan's voice. He stood in the doorway. "That's where she learned how to care for the sick or injured." The big man shook his head sadly. "It appears she is reliving the loss of her mother in her fever—has it lessened?"
"I'm afraid not, Broan." Kendrick returned his attention to his sick friend. "On the table there is a bowl of broth with some herbs. Could you hand it to me?" Broan did as was asked, and Kendrick began slowly spooning some of the broth into Kieran's mouth, waiting to see that she swallowed before giving her more. "If this fever doesn't break soon, she may die. I worry for her."
"As do I—and the rest of the men," Broan said. "The weather is getting worse. The rain has turned to ice, and the ice has turned to a heavy snow. The wind has picked up as well. We may be in store for another white beast like before. If so—I'm afraid we're going to be here for a while. Bad weather tends to hang still within these mountains." He leaned over the fitful form of the woman and placed a hand to her cheek—still very hot to the touch. "She has become like a little sister to me, Kendrick. Look after her well."
"I promise you, Broan, I will do all I can. I already know she would do the same for me. And she has." He allowed a small smile to play at his lips. "In the short time I've known her, she has become like an older sister to me. I suppose that makes the three of us family?"
"I suppose it may, Kendrick," the bearded merchant smiled. "I suppose it may. Look after our sister, Kendrick. I'm going to check on the men, and then I'll be getting some sleep." He turned then, and walked out the door, shutting it quietly. Kendrick rose and returned the bowl of broth to the table, before stepping to look out of the window at the weather outside. Indeed the weather had worsened and he watched as the snow and ice flew horizontally past the window in the strong winds. The lightning still tore the sky; jagged blue and silver lines in the blackness momentarily revealing the angry clouds above and the jagged peaks and walls of the surrounding mountains. He knew what was coming—but not how it would affect him. And he wondered what role he would play in the Long Winter. He ran a hand through his short dark hair, and winced as he inadvertently passed his hand over his earlier head wound. Turning from the window he picked up The Teachings from the small table in the center of the room and returned to sit at Kieran's side. After he said a brief prayer, he began to read...
...and Jandrous walked amongst those wounded after a great battle saying, "Have the peoples of this world fallen so much that they will not help the wounded here? Look about you—these are men and elves just like yourselves! The creations of the One God, as are you!"
"But Jandrous," one of his followers said. "They are the enemy. Show them how you will rule as king. You will rule justly, but be swift to destroy your enemies!"
"What do you know of how I will rule!" Jandrous raised his voice, angry, so that his followers and the army nearby could hear them. "All of you—my followers, and you soldiers! You want me to come as a ruler of nations and a king of war! But I say to you that I have not come this time to make war against the evils of this world. I have come as a servant to those in need!" And with tears in his eyes, he knelt before one of the wounded enemy, and placed a hand upon the man's side where his life was bleeding slowly out of his body. When he took his hand away, the wound was gone. "I ask you my followers, to do just as I have. When your faith is strong you too will be able to heal the sick and wounded in the One God's name. Ask to heal, and you will be given the ability to heal. And I ask you soldiers, have mercy upon these soldiers—your enemy, and bind their wounds so that they may live. Be servants of your fellow peoples! Oh but if all peoples of this world would look upon each other as the fellow creations that they are, perhaps you would then treat each other like brothers—and not enemy!"
Kendrick closed the book, and placed a hand upon Kieran's head. "And he will grant me healing when asked in faith, so that I can show his love for his people..." he quoted a writing of one of the original followers of Jandrous. He glanced at the candle on the table—there was plenty of candle left to burn, and there were two others unused. He would not be sleeping tonight.
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From atop a snow covered hill the three riders looked down upon the lights of the great city of Rosenguarde—the capital city of Erinor. Her strong, tall walls had never been breached, though throughout history, many armies had tried. She was the seat of a proud lineage of kings and queens; just rulers loyal to the One God before and after the time of Jandrous. She was the great city where the royalty of her allies, Kyrolis and Rylos to the north, met once a year; sometimes accompanied by the E'eldradin and E'eldroan. Occasionally—every few years or so even the E'eldhiavan—the elves of the Mistwood—or one or two representatives of the dwarven kingdoms would be present. Even the Haira'hem would sometimes have a chieftain present. The dukes and nobles and lords of lesser cities would also often attend and they would talk about the affairs of their lands; trade, defense, production and all things important to the growth and economies of their holdings. Here were the tall white walls of engraved stone; vines with leaves and roses, leaping doe and stag, fox and rabbit, and griffins, dragons, and lions—the engravings of master stone workers reached from top to bottom and side to side all along the three outer walls. The back of the city was protected by the flat stone face of a mountain of the Axeweavers. However; the beauty of Rosenguarde was lost in the darkness, but Jarren remembered her quite well. He smiled to himself. The Traveler felt more at home in a dwelling made of the trunks and branches of trees, or under the stars themselves, but he felt a special love for the great city. He had fought for her in the past, and she in turn had treated him well. But although he loved her, he could not stay. He had left her long ago—without word, in the darkness of night. Now he found himself returning, again in the darkness of night and he wondered if she would welcome him back, or resent him. Without a word to the others he moved his horse forward toward the gates of Rosenguarde with Tia, Marek, and Runner following close behind. They rode past the various outer farms, the inhabitants mainly asleep for the night, although here and there, candlelight still shone through some windows.
"We'll rest at an inn tonight," Jarren said as they neared the outer city gates. His face was calm but he spoke softly, and it seemed, with a sorrow in his words. "Tomorrow, Marek, you can see about visiting the high priest here—I will seek a visit with King Erehk and tell him what has happened in Eagle's Crest."
"You sound troubled," Marek said as he moved his horse beside Jarren.
"We bring troubling news," Jarren responded. "Your temple, the city of Eagle's Crest—" He looked away, silent for a moment, and then sighed heavily before continuing. "The king wished to make me his champion and commander of his personal guard. There was to be a ceremony the next morning—I rode out through the gates of Rosenguarde that night for some time alone, some time to think outside the walls that felt like they were closing about me—and I kept riding. It seems so long ago now, yet it could have been only yesterday. I've always considered King Erehk as more than a king, more than my friend. I think of him as a brother."
"Why did you not stay?" Marek asked wonderingly.
"I was young," Jarren answered. "Perhaps I wasn't ready for that kind of responsibility, and I've never liked being tied down in one place for very long. That is partly how I came to be known as the Traveler. The longest I've ever stayed anywhere is in the Forever Lands—and even there, I have come and gone quite often." He then rode ahead while Tia, Marek, and Runner trailed behind him. As they passed through the tall wooden gates, they received curious glances and stares from soldiers upon the walls as well as the inhabitants of the city still moving about the cobbled stone streets. The two men were dressed in elven style clothing, Jarren with the black leather chest plate armor and bracers. And following them was a sight even more rare—the elven woman, Tia'ialla riding upon a roa'an. The city was visited from time to time by elves, but rarely a woman, and roa'an were rarely seen here, other than every year or so when representatives came from the Forever Lands for meetings. And every so often someone they passed would spare a second glance at the tall rider in the lead, their eyes squinting as though they may have recognized him. Jarren rode straight down the road, past the cobbled stone buildings with wood shingled roofs on either side, and past any onlookers without turning his head in either direction. He held his head high, as he always did. But it seemed to Marek, riding just behind him, that perhaps his shoulders slumped just slightly. Turning off of the road, Jarren led them to a stable next to an inn and tavern where they left Runner and their mounts.
Entering the inn and the warmth of a fire burning in a large fireplace along one wall, Jarren moved through the room to speak with the innkeeper who it seemed may have recognized Jarren, for he put a finger to his lips to signal that he wished to keep his identity secret. Shortly he returned and mentioned that he had secured lodgings for them all upstairs, as well as a warm meal, and led them to a table in one corner near the fireplace. The warmth of the inn and the food brightened their spirits a bit, although knowing the next day would find them bearing ill news. Marek asked Jarren if his training in the sword had brought him to a level in which he could defend himself well enough in a fight.
"You have improved much," Jarren said with a small chuckle. "But you still have much to learn. We may be very busy tomorrow, but perhaps we will find the time to continue your training. As of now, you may defend yourself quite well—against a child." The three of them laughed then. The first they had laughed since the journey began.
"I will accompany you, Marek, to the temple tomorrow," Tia said. All smiles were lost.
"I—I would like that." Marek suddenly remembered everything that had taken place up to now. He remembered the treachery of the sudden attack in the temple. He remembered his brothers screaming in fear, pain, and death as they begged for an explanation from those who attacked them. He remembered slipping on someone's blood and hitting his head as he fell. He remembered waking up to the slaughter of his fellow priests. Marek thought of his escape and his flight from the temple and eventually being found by Jarren the Hunter and of the attack by the drayan'os possessed priest slain by Jarren's sword. He remembered the three of them finding the burned to the ground ruins of the temple, and thought of how he would tell the high priest in Rosenguarde what had happened. His voice shook, but he would not allow the tears to come again. "Thank you, Tia," he said. "I may need the support." The elven woman reached across the temple and took his hand in both of hers. She locked her sparkling green eyes under long red hair on Marek's hazel eyes.
"We have known each other only a short time, Marek," Tia said as she held his gaze. "But may I call you friend?"
"Of course," the priest replied.
"This is what friends do, Marek, when one is in need of support."
"Thank you, Tia." The priest managed a smile as the elven woman smiled in return.
"So be it then," Jarren said. "You two will see the high priest. Talking to King Erehk tomorrow, however, is something I feel I must do alone."
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For three days and nights Drogan, Halin, Faldrek, and the elven prince Arden, pursued Andorin through the Griffinwood but were unable to gain any distance on the man and his captive. Twice they rested in elven villages along the way where no others had witnessed any sign of Andorin's passing. Although mainly traveling the road through the forest, he was able to stay out of sight when others had come close, hiding apparently in the trees until safe to resume his hard ride northward. And he was indeed riding hard. When the four riders entered the great elven city, E'eldaduranus; simply Elven Home in the common tongue of man, they were shivering and miserable in the icy rain falling through the forest canopy above. The city, although much larger, was much like the elven villages they had seen before, with some buildings and homes built upon the ground, and others built into the trees above with rope bridges leading from one to another. The lights of the city were a welcome site to the travelers, and they looked forward to a warm fire and meal. Drogan wanted to keep going, knowing that Annyaa would not have such luxury, but the others convinced him the weather was too terrible to be traveling in any further that night. Andorin would have had no choice but to find some form of shelter as well. Few elves were outside, other than sentries guarding the perimeter or high up on the rope bridges above—most choosing to stay within the warmth of their homes out of the cold wet weather as Ardena'athurin led the three men toward a great, white, smooth stone palace in the center of the city; an octagonal building with towers at each corner and a tall central tower—the keep—rising above the canopy of the trees. They heard a sharp, piercing cry, and looked upward to see a large winged shadow swiftly flying through the breaks in the canopy toward the palace ahead.
"What was that?" Halin asked while peering up through the branches above.
"Griffin Rider," Arden chuckled. "Likely returning with news from afar, or perhaps a scouting mission somewhere."
The gates to the palace were massive thick wooden gates engraved with a large tree in the center and griffins in flight, and deer and horses below. Guards stood before and to either side dressed in grey leggings and tunics, with green embroidery upon the sleeves, and wore long forest green cloaks. Over their chain mail hauberks, they wore black surcoats similar to Arden's, with the red horse and griffin. They wore rounded helms with nose guards upon their heads, as well as leather bracers upon their forearms. All wore swords belted at the waist, and stood with spears in hand; raising them in salute when their prince came into view. When the guards opened the gates, Arden led the three men with him into a large hallway with large tree trunks built into the walls on either side and branches woven together in the ceiling above, giving the great hall the appearance of a forested path. Torches in holders upon the stone floor were spaced every few yards, lighting the hall in a warm glow. Here and there, as they walked the indoor forest, would be a break in the trunks where against the white stone walls were hung great colorful tapestries depicting moments in the history of the E'eldroan.
Drogan and the others were led into a great room, decorated much like the halls with a large table in the center. Against the far wall, upon a risen section on the floor, stood a throne of carved and engraved wood. There were two long wooden tables to the left and right sides of the room. Large colorful tapestries were hung about the walls and behind the throne. This was the E'eldakune A'hule A'e'ldroan; the Hall of Kings of the Griffinwood elves, Arden explained, the same name given to the palace itself.
"Please—sit." He motioned to one of the tables. "I will see about getting us something to eat." And he left through a doorway to one side as Drogan, Halin, and Faldrek slowly eased their tired bodies onto one of the long table benches. Arden returned shortly, another elf in tow. The elf following him was a tall one with blond hair worn long, and he was introduced as Hardis, the Griffin Rider they had seen earlier. Arden asked him what news he could give, and as two young elves entered the room with plates of food and drink, he told his tale.
"Everything throughout E'eldroan seems fair—with the exception of this foul weather," he said as he ate. "However there was a running battle between the northern and southern tribes of the Haira'hem. The southern tribes were on the run, and it appeared that soldiers of Grey Home, expecting an attack were waiting for them in the southern mountain pass into Erinor. The southern tribes army was effectively destroyed in the end—caught between the two forces. The survivors scattered."
"So the Haira'hem we heard about were on the run." Drogan said to Faldrek, who nodded.
"Yes," Hardis continued. "I spoke to the Grey Home commanders after the battle. It seems the Haira'hem believe we've entered into the Long Winter prophesied in the The Teachings of Jandrous. The commanders told me the northern and southern tribes had a gathering to determine who would be loyal to Jandrous in a coming war, and those against him. The Haira'hem loyal to Jandrous—mostly those of the northern tribes, felt there was no point in wasting time, and shortly after the gathering, joined forces and attacked those who would be against them in the near future. Many lives were lost, but the southern armies were routed. They were on the run still when they met the Grey Home soldiers."
"I would never have known there were Haira'hem loyal to Jandrous," Drogan said.
"Indeed there are," Hardis explained. "The name Haira'hem is from an old dialect that means quite literally, those who follow. Or—those who follow him. Unfortunately, only the northern tribes in general stayed true to their name." He then looked to his prince. "There is more Prince Arden," he continued grimly. "Skraeg are on the move further north in the Axeweaver Mountains. We're not certain what it means just yet, but other Griffin Riders and the dwarves are watching them closely."
"I see," Arden answered. "We should keep close watch on them then. Our friends here," he continued, "are searching for a man riding through the Griffinwood. He has a prisoner—a human woman, and he has killed many, including some elves. Have you seen them?"
"I'm afraid I have not," Hardis replied to the three men. "But I will be leaving again at dawn after I've spoken to the king, and will keep an open eye. I will spread the word, as well."
"Thank you," Drogan said.
"We should all get some rest," Arden then said. "We'll continue our chase at dawn." He showed the three men to vacant rooms where they would rest the night and promised to meet them again at first light when he would again join them on their hunt for Andorin.
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Padded canine feet raced through the mountainous terrain of the Axeweaver as the massive, black furred beast ran through the darkness of the cold storming night. Steam and smoke rose from its jowls as it breathed heavily from the run, and tongues of flame escaped from between its large sharp teeth. It's glowing green eyes scanned the terrain around it as it ran. Coming to a halt the beast raised its great horned head and sniffed the air, and let out a long lonesome howl sounding like the cries of many spirits. A moment later, its call was answered by others over the wind—its howl through the trees and mountain passes as forbidding and lonesome as that of the beasts. With a snarl, and droplets of drool like molten iron falling to the cold wet ground before it, the giant wolf-like creature threw itself forward on its powerful legs and ran on toward the strong scent of goodness—a putrid stench, yet a sweet smell of a coming meal for the beast. In the darkness were the sounds of others on the run as well—more black beasts that could have been from the depths of the darkest pit of the underworld. The Walven were on the hunt.
©Anthony David Rosenthal/To The Valley Of Dragons 2010
