I can describe him as nothing else.
I watch, delighted, as he wrestles with his favourite playmate.
They snarl and snap at each other, but there is no malice here- this is just the play-fighting of packmates, of comrades-in-arms, of littermates.
The violence springs from nowhere and subsides as fast, and I am as likely to find them curled up on each other, snoring softly together in the blissful sleep that only innocents are blessed with.
See, now he has the upper hand, but he does not press the advantage- I sometimes think he enjoys the fight more than the victory, this one.
He is destined for great things, surely.
Wondrous, as I said.
There is a lull in the fighting, and he catches my eye and I am lost.
He grins and forces the advantage- see, Father, see how easily I turn the tables, see how easily I overpower the foe, see how I do it for you, all for you- and with a flash it is over- he has pinned the hound to the ground despite the fact that it towers over him.
I feel a sudden, overwhelming rush of love within my chest, so powerful it threatens to burst its banks and drive me screaming into insanity.
For this one, I should move the Heavens themselves.
He is my son, my first-born, my morning star.
My wondrous boy.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.