The night was dark and cold, the wind cut straight through their coats and a sound like wolves echoed through the trees. And while Ethein did his best to keep the crisp crunch of his footfalls against the snow to a minimum, his companion made no such effort.
"I swear," the Buckland hobbit Cedric muttered, "you bring these things with you, don't you? None of this ever happens, 'cepting when you're in town ..."
Ethein tried to ignore his friend as he knelt low, panning his vision through the woods slowly, listening. He hoped to catch the sound of padded feet, the echo of the howling, anything that might help him to orient himself in these damned woods. When Cedric had first contacted him, summoning him by letter to help look into the disappearance of a local woodsman, he'd ridden down the Greenway without a second thought. Now, however, he was wishing he'd put more planning into the early stages of their search.
The howling seemed to fade in and out, almost hiding itself amongst the sound of the wind making its way through the trees. Their woodsman seemed to be keeping any sound to himself; which, while wise, made it impossible for the two of them to track him down. Ethein himself had no real skill for tracking, and only a passing familiarity for these woods. And any subtleties he could have discerned about his surroundings were unfortunately getting lost in the sounds of hobbit-whinging.
"I think those might be wolves, even," Cedric muttered, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "Wolves, this near the Shire. Can't say I ran afoul wolves, 'fore I met you, you know. It's like you bring them with you! My own fault for sending for you, really ..."
Ethein remained quiet, as he peered into the evening darkness, searching for some sign of their woodsman. From the satchel at his side, he produced a wrapped stack of seasoned breads with a thin crust of cheese, and handed it over to Cedric.
"Is this meant to shut me up?" Cedric asked, offended. Ethein only offered a slight shrug, in response. Cedric had something to say to that, as well, but it was mostly drowned out in a mouthful of bread.
Now able to focus on the search, Ethein peered around the woods for any sign of passage beside their own. He thought now that they'd been a bit foolhardy, heading out into the dark. However, both he and Cedric had agreed that the difference between searching that night, and searching the next morning could be the difference between finding their woodsman and finding his body. Finally, spying a light trail in the snow, leading downhill into the dark, Ethein realized he could have his first lead. To something, at least.
Waving Cedric on behind him, Ethein set his feet against the snow and began an attempt at a controlled slide downward. The tracks were crisp, recent, leading down towards the river bank. He looked about, but found no signs of obvious travel, or struggle. He was no trained hunter, but Ethein had hoped at least for more clear tracks in the snow, broken branches, anything that could lead them on.
To make matters worse, the wind grew more chill as the night dragged on. Ethein half-considered sneaking a sip of the brandy in his flask, but relented. They'd brought that for their lost woodsman, and after being out so long in nights like this, he was going to need every drop of it.
When Cedric finally managed to get himself downhill, bread clutched tightly in his teeth as he used both hands to steady himself on branches and roots to keep steady, Ethein paused. "What?" Cedric asked, or at least something like that, through his mouthful. Ethein said nothing, instead turning to listen to the wind. It seemed the howling had stopped, and he worried about not knowing what that meant.
Cedric snapped Ethein out of his thoughts, though, pulling on his cloak and pointing down the bank of the river. Out from beneath the trees, moonlight cast everything around them, all covered in snow, in a pale blue light. The pale blue fields around them now starkly framed between the woods-shaded cliffs they'd just come down and the flickering, choppy light reflected in the river running alongside them, the pair finally had a clear view of their surroundings. Which gave Ethein his first taste of hope, for the night.
What Cedric had spied,standing out in the clear winter view, was a smoldering bit of black rising from a point in the distance. Immediately, the two of them made haste towards it.
"I didn't mean," Cedric said, between gasps for air as the pair ran, "what I said before, Ethein. About the wolves being near the Shire ..."
Ethein took a moment to look back at his friend, "About them not being in the Shire? I had believed you. Can't eat wolves, why would they be in the Shire?" The pair of them half-laughed, but before Cedric could gather enough breath to reply, they'd reached their destination and Ethein stopped, abruptly.
"What is it?" the hobbit asked. Looking ahead of them, they saw the smoking remains of a campfire, and a figure wrapped tightly in a cloak just beside it. Lying not too far off were a small woodsman's hand axe, and an unstrung bow. Cedric un-shouldered his backpack, and began pulling jars of salves and ointments and poultices from it, but Ethein put a hand haltingly on his chest before the hobbit could approach. Cedric was confused by this, but only for a moment; the wind continued to howl, now joined by a low sound, guttural and thick and completely unknown and unknowable to his ears.
Before Ethein could utter a word of warning, however, it was upon them. Bounding out from the hill above them, it a blur of black fur and muscle, flashing teeth and shining red eyes. And while Cedric had never actually seen a wolf before, his only thought as the thing's jaws came bearing down on him was that this couldn't possibly be a wolf.
Ethein immediately lunged, thrusting his entire bodyweight into the beast. He kicked himself for not bringing his shield, for thinking it was too heavy to lug around alongside an injured woodsman, for thinking that nothing in the Shire would test him enough to really need the thing, for not having that extra layer of protection between his friend and the slathering, wide-mawed warg.
The tackle had been enough, however, to force the beast into the center of the campground. The soil and snow of which Ethein had realized, just a moment too late, were still upturned from violence that had taken place there. Against the dim embers of the campfire, slight bits of red stained the snow and mud around them. Back on its feet, the beast circled the campfire, its eyes set on Ethein, collecting itself to pounce again.
Ethein's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, but the beast wouldn't give him the chance to draw. Taking off through the remaining embers of the campfire, it pounced at him, bearing down on the man with a terrible weight, taking him to the ground. Ethein couldn't draw his weapon, but he upturned it as they came crashing down, the hard leather point of the hilt driving into the beast's gut. It drew a whimper from the beast, a high and wretched sound, but gave Ethein no leverage with which to escape. That came abruptly, just a second later.
The flash of metal flickered into his vision for just a moment, as Cedric tried to put the woodsman's axe directly into the face of the beast. He half-succeeded, striking with enough force to confuse and bleed the thing, startling it enough for Ethein to roll it off of him. Raising to one knee, he drew his blade and tried to reorient himself. In the pale glow of moonlight on the snowy riverbank, he could see the mass of black fur swinging and thrasing with the flailing limbs of a hobbit. Wasting no time, Ethein lunged forward, driving with the tip of his blade directly into the warg's flank.
He twisted and jerked the blade carelessly, frantically, pressing his feet into the crusty snow for leverage and casting his eyes about to try and get a good look at his friend. When the warg finally stopped thrashing beneath him, Ethein stood, and looked to the crumpled body of Cedric just a foot or two away. He rushed to his friend, turning him over, hoping against hope for good news.
Cedric coughed, suddenly, yanking at the clasp of his winter cloak. Ethein laughed, helping him to loosen it, before falling back into the snow. He felt the flask at his hip dig into him slightly, as he hit the ground, but was too relieved to care.
Cedric sat up. "It got my cloak," he rasped. "Nearly choked me to death, it did ..."
Ethein laughed, before pulling himself back to his feet. "I suppose you'll blame that on me, next?"
"I didn't mean that, earlier." Cedric said. "I just had to blame somebody, and you're the only one I knew who'd come with me, if I said someone needed looking for. It was that, or face up to things like this just being ... out here."
Ethein retried his sword from the remains of the warg. Cedric had a point, earlier, however misplaced: the presence of a warg, here, was a grim sign. Let alone one that was this cunning. He broke the awkward silence by saying, "You handled that pretty well, though."
Cedric shook his head. "You shut up, now."
"Really, that was a good strike," Ethein said, kicking the beast slightly, with his foot. "That was quite the accomplishment, for a first fight. How does 'Cedric, Slayer of Wargs' sound to you? Cedric Warg's Bane?"
"Is that what that thing's called? Also, no. Start boasting about these things, people start wanting you to do it again. You will not breath a word of this, you hear me? Besides, who'd believe you? You're tallfolk, and therefore obviously barking mad ..."
Ethein slowly returned to the center of the camp, to the figure wrapped in the cloak. The rush of adrenaline subsiding, the cold began to settle in, again. Cedric ceased his rant, for a moment.
"So. Is, ah ..." the hobbit asked. Ethein reached into his belt, pulling off the flask of brandy and tossing it to Cedric. Silently, Ethein tried to take comfort in that, at the very least, they had a clear path home, and some means to keep warm. And the howling on the wind sounded, at least, to be comfortably distant.
