Creative Writing: The Wolf

The wolf was far older than him, he perceived, its great body made by fell sorceries and dwimmercraft, a demon corrupted into wolf-shape. He felt its dark mastery and wondered if once again he would fall by the teeth of this dread-beast, as he had fallen by the fire of the Valarauco many ages ago before Beleriand was lost to the sea.
It pushed its head from his grasp, and in mockery of a hound’s affection it bent and nuzzled his cheek before baring its razor-teeth. He felt them scrape against his skin and heard it speak.
“Now, Laurëfindil, do you understand? Twice you have sought to slay an Umaia. Twice now you will fail.”
He threw his arms around the wolf’s neck, crushing it to him. The paws of the beast scrabbled frantically against his

The wolf hröa lay still on his chest.
Slaver and blood were in his eyes. Tears that he did not remember shedding burned his cheeks. Hands were rolling away from the great corpse, and the evening air was painfully sweet in his chest.
A high plaining cut through the twilit silence. The leaves quivered in the windless night, and Glorfindel stood up tremblingly, braced by Laineth’s shoulder. Her eyes were scanning the forest, her body was a lean mass of corded muscle, ready to fight or flee. “What is that?”
“The fëa,” he murmured. “It is calling to us. Do not

No echoes remained in their ears, it was gone away, forever. It was a heavy, solemn silence. Like lark-notes sinking from the sky, when a falcon’s shadow falls upon them, their voices were hushed.
Glorfindel spat out blood onto the trampled moss, looking at the hröa. It was stiff and aberrant, a preternatural puppet whose strings were cut.
Vespertine birds began to sing, a hesitant murmur that steadily grew to a glad chorus. Elladan took his other arm, so he hung between Laineth and the Half-Elf like a trussed deer. Almost smiling at the ignominy in which he was placed, they went slowly along the path, Tawarian, and Avadion as the vanguard.
As they drew near the camp, they were challenged by a young Elf.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“I do,” said Elladan, without venturing another explanation. “Let us by.”
“Lord Elladan?” came the inquiry.
“Aye.” He pushed forward, leaving Tawarian to enlighten the guard and report to Helgon. He seemed ready to let Laineth take Glorfindel to the healer’s tent when Glorfindel stopped him. “Take me to Elrohir.”
The tent was lit as they approached. Elladan’s pace quickened and flinging back the tent, entering, heedless of his stumbling burden.
Her silver hair glinting in the lamplight, Celebrían knelt over Elrohir, bathing his