Chetwood

He had come prepared: his three hounds, well-trained, fierce, and utterly loyal, were in place; his spear was strong and its iron point and cross-brace sharp; his position was well-chosen with both the advantage of height and several options for retreat and advance. Still, staring down a wolf charging at you is never a time to feel comfortable, no matter how much subtle lore of bird and beast your ancestors were taught by Radagast the Brown, no matter how many times you had faced wolves, no matter how many you had tamed and turned into members of your clan.

The sun was shining on the horizon heralding the new day. Just as the new day had just begun so had the new year not that long ago. Filled with the joy of the yuletide, Galmaxthalion once again took off to the wild. The Chetwood was stirring in the morning, the forest-life welcoming the increasing hours of sunlight as the year rolled past the winter solstice towards the still distant spring. Breathing in the cold morning air Galmaxthalion shared some of his rations with his steed, Lossenor, before pulling out his lórien clarinet.

Diary,

It's been wonderful... I can barely stop to think straight my minds all a-flutter. I guess I should explain all that's happened.

Twilight twisted the tall trees of Chetwood, turning them into terrifying sentinels. Each tree was gnarled by time, the elements hacking at them, turning them into beacons to be feared and respected with awesome grandeur. Evening shadows played over them with a pervading stillness, encompassing the trees with further darkness, each tree overshadowed by his neighbours. No sound could be heard; as though the encroaching night time darkness was whisking away all sounds of life and wind; leaving nothing but an orchestra of silence.

The Badgerbane

​part II

Scarlock and the Chetwood Runaways