In the midst of romping with my mate, a familiar scent assail my nostrils. Thidrek!

I untangle myself from her lovely white limbs and dash out of the woods toward the stable of the meadohall. I hunt for my friend, but he is not there.

I pick up his scent outside, follow the smell of him to the hall and enter. My mate tags along, but she will have none of the abodes of men. I turn and reassure her that I will join her later, then enter and search the place until I see him standing at a doorway leading under ground. His back is to me and he is holding a weapon at the ready.

Then the acrid smells of fear mixed with the blood and sweat of men hits me. My fur bristles and a deep, menacing growl escapes me as I bare my fangs and follow him into the dank earthy mancave, ready to rip the throats out of anything that dares harm a single shiny hair on my best friend's head.