Read Grizanni’s previous adventure here.

Ah, what a good day for hunting! Blistering hot sun, blasting wind causing dust motes to swirl. Uncle Wargazar and I stretch out our limbs, our large paws pounding the earth as we race along.

I spent the last few days venturing further and further from my den in the mountains near Gramsfoot.  My back aches slightly from the slow, careful gait of a warg sneaking along — I mean in stealth mode.   Several times, Uncle Wargazar came with me to show me what he knows, and, several times I went all by myself!  I was able to discover some keeps and outposts and check out the action to see how the war was going.

I hurried back to Gramsfoot to report everything I had seen.  I told Taskmaster Uglash all about the elf with a big bow who was running towards Tol Ascarnen, the uruks gathering at Tirith Rhaw, the sun-scorched trolls I saw on my way to Grothum, and the really big spider I saw near the Grimwood Lumber Camp.  Uglash listened very attentatively to everything I had to say and was extremely grateful for the vital intelligence I provided!  There was a ringing in my ears for the rest of the day from the congratulatory thump on the back he gave me (well, I know he meant to pat my back, though he accidentally hit me in the side of the head, since I was bowing down so low before him).

Today, as the wind rushes past and ruffles our fur, we are heading to the hobbit town of Hoarhollow.  Taskmaster Fikdag from Dar-gazag has asked us to bring him 10 Hobbit-Legs. Yum!  I feel confident and brave as we approach the little village.  Hobbits are fat and slow, right?  Should be easy pickings for a quick, young warg like myself.  Plus, I’ve been practicing my stealth mode and sprint, so I’ll be able to launch lightning quick attacks and they won’t know what’s hit them.  With a snap of the jaws and a crunch, those 10 Hobbit-legs shall be ours in no time.

We slow down as we approach the village, moving effortlessly into stealth mode.  I can see silly little hobbits trundling about, plucking weeds in their gardens (ugh, vegetables!).  We circle for a moment, completely undetected, carefully choosing our target.  They all look so plump and juicy!  So difficult to choose just one to start with!

After a minute, Uncle indicates his prefered target with a jerk of his grizzled head.  Placing his muzzle conspiratorily next to my ear he tells me in a low, rumbling voice to approach from the left while he attacks first from the right.  We approach the ridiculously complacent hobbit from behind, our carefully placed footsteps never even stirring up a mote of dust, never even causing a crackling of a broken leaf.  The hobbit continues to tend her garden without a care in the world.  I can hear her whistling — such a strange, useless waste of breath employed by bipeds — surely she can hear the pounding of my heart?

With a terse nod of his head, Uncle indicates that I’ve advanced far enough.  I can feel the adrenaline surging and tingling through my limbs as I crouch low, waiting for his signal.  I glance back at the hobbit and suddenly there is an explosion of movement beside me as Uncle lunges for the hobbit.  A split second behind him, my body bursts into action as well, instinct taking over.

The fight is over quickly.  The hobbit resists at first, but her glancing blows with a rake are no match for the crushing force of our jaws.  Her defensive moves soon become feeble and then stop altogether.  Standing above the fallen foe, barely even breathing hard, Uncle Wargazar catches my eye and regards me calmly for a moment.  “You did well,” he says gruffly, then turns to the task of collecting the trophy for Taskmaster Fikdag.  My chest swells with pride and a burst of energy fluxes through my body.

Uncle finishes his task and looks up at me approvingly.  “Where to next?” he inquires.  I feel like my heart is going to burst with joy as I turn around and head out to find our next target.

It just feels right to take the lead.