A Frosty Reckoning
Hooves sank deep into snow. Glasdal snorted, struggling to loose herself from the snowdrift she was mired in.
Barangolf slid from the saddle, landing with a puff of white. He stroked the horse’s sable nose with murmured reassurances. “We will find shelter soon.”
His soothing tone masked his uncertainty. There had been Dwarven outposts in the mountains when he'd last traveled this way, but that had been many years ago. The roads were more treacherous than he remembered, and the howling of wargs in the night indicated the presence of goblins nearby.
On his last journey he’d feared neither goblins nor wargs.
Beside him his granddaughter, Daelinn, coaxed her own horse forward with gentle admonitions. She squinted into the snow. “Then we are headed toward Imladris?”
Barangolf pulled his scarf further over his mouth and nodded. The snowstorm that had separated the two Wood-Elves from their party had obscured both paths and stars, making navigation impossible. But the storm was long since behind them, and he was confident they’d corrected their course.
“There was a camp near here last I ---”
Whump!
Glasdal reared back with a whinny of alarm as the air exploded in a shower of snow.
“Whoa!” Barangolf grabbed her reins, tugging hard to steady her.
A nearby copse of pines rustled and out burst a furry, white creature. It leaped at the two Elves, knocking Daelinn off her feet.
Barangolf’s heart leaped into his throat. Warg. He snatched a stone from his pouch, regretting for once his decision to carry no other weapon.
He flung the stone just as the snowdust cleared, revealing not a warg, but a snowbeast. His missile connected with the beast’s skull. It whirled to face him, roaring in anger.
Barangolf licked parched lips. His eyes were fixed on the monster. “Away from her, foul beast!” He yelled.
The beast galloped towards him. He sent another stone flying, but it missed by inches. The beast bared its yellowed fangs and leaped. He tensed, but the monster flew over his head, straight towards Glasdal. The horse whinnied in terror as she struggled against the deep snowdrifts in desperation. The snowbeast grabbed the bedroll tied to her back and tugged, pulling her inexorably backwards.
From the ground where she lay Daelinn began to sing. Her voice lacked the power of the Legendary singers -- of Luthien or Finrod Felagund -- but she had learned all the song craft known to the Wood-elves.
The bedroll snapped off the saddle. The beast gazed at it in befuddlement, then grunted and lolled away.
Barangolf offered his granddaughter a hand. “Bit rough singing in this cold, isn’t it?” He asked.
She laughed. “Are you not going after it? Would make a nice replacement bed…”
The older of the two shook his head. “I would prefer not to detour. We still have a camp to find.”
Daelinn patted her grandfather on the arm. “Then lead on!”