Sharkey

The man stopped, standing still, not unlike a statue, as if some sort of spell had just frozen him. He narrowed his eyes as he recognized what was before him, the beast that had already defeated him once: a Warg, as big as a horse and black as the night. It could be any black Warg, especially since the last time it was in the Lone-Lands, miles away... but Ildrand knew it was that Warg. The same size, the same growl, the same eyes.

"Mister Berrywine! What a pleasure! We couldn't recognize you, it is quite dark. What are you doing here, in the Vale of Andrath?"
"I'm going South."
"Where?"
"You'll find out when I come back."

Annaliesa sat on the wooden chair, a half empty bottle of whiskey wedged between her skirt covered knees.

The young woman crouched, her forearms resting on her thighs, her murky blue eyes taking in the gruesome scene. A dagger dangled from one hand, still wet with blood as she had the kindness in her stone heart to finish off one man who was dying too slowly. He had been impaled on a broken tree limb, in a rather vulnerable if not fatal place on his body. She spat at the roots of the old oak and turned at the sound of foot steps.