Sooooo...I may have forgotten momentarily that I had stories to write...oops. Anyway, please enjoy.

Meara spent most of the evening speaking with Alby, looking for obsidian stones to turn into arrow heads and gathering strong fallen branches. She was absently sharpening the obsidian, Alby sleeping by the fire in her hut. He was slightly weary about her still, but not enough that he wouldn't accept a dry and warm place to sleep. Even though she told him to call her Meara, he still referred to her as the "Silver Terror" or sometimes the "Silver Terror human". It both irritated and pleased her that the Wargs have given her a title. Pleased her in a sense that they regarded her as something to avoid. Irritated her in a sense that those like Alby will try and do something to her to prove themselves. For one, she might be challenged. It wasn't so much the thought of fighting that made her wrinkle her nose but the thought of responsibility being placed on her shoulders when she came out victorious. She wasn't sure how pack law was done in Middle Earth, but back on earth, if a challenger won against, say an Alpha, power and responsibility was passed to the challenger. The previous alpha either became a beta or never got up from their submissive position beneath the challenger.

Meara glanced at Alby, placing the last obsidian arrow down. She wondered what the young warg had done to earn his missing ear and damaged eye. She knew that the Wargs were violent—even with their young apparently. It bothered her, she realized. It bothered her that Wargs weren't as caring toward their young as she liked. Maybe it was because of her own past, and how she was raised.

She remembered that during her younger years, she was almost always with her father. He taught her how to ease into her change, he told her stories about her mother and he even trained her a little bit in sword fighting. He protected her from those who would otherwise try and harm her….The memory of her father fighting his Beta was probably the most prominent.

She was six years old and playing in the stables with the horses. The smell of horse and hay was strong and she could hear the stable hand putting a shoe on one of the mares that pulled the royal carriage. At the moment, she had been trying to force a wad of hay into the shape of a doll when she heard Finnian, her father's "advisor" or to the werewolves, his Beta, call for her. For a brief second she thought of ignoring him and finishing her doll, but then she heard her name again this time with a little bit of power laced in it. Irritated, because even when she was so young she had a mind of her own, she dropped her hay ball and marched out of the barn, a sullen look on her face as she looked at the Beta. He was a tall man, broad shouldered and very hairy. His beard fell nearly to the middle of his chest and was adorned with multitudes of bone beads that showed a sharp contrast in his black beard. He wore one of his finest tunics, and had one of his prettiest kilt on. It was a deep blue with green accents.

"Lord Finnian." Meara said with a sniff. Looking up at him from underneath her lashes. Most of the women and even some of the men found the look endearing, but if any of the werewolves were to share their opinion, the look, in a way, was terrifying. It wasn't necessarily the girl herself, but the look always brought about a predatory look about her eyes that sent a chill down their backs.

Lord Finnian fought the urge to curl his lip at the girl. "Your father, the king, requested that I teach you to hunt."

"I don't want to hunt with you."

Lord Finnian fought the urge to growl. "It is an order from your Alpha."

Meara tilted her head and her eyes narrowed at the beta. She never liked him. "No."

She turned and trotted away, a small smirk playing on her lips when she heard him growl an oath low in his throat. Meara marched straight towards the section she knew her father to be in. She was half way to his study when she felt herself get picked up by the scruff off her neck. She growled and squirmed as she was dangled off the ground, her face scrunched up with indignation.

"You will do as you are told, Pup." Lord Finnian growled out at her, his eyes a burning amber, much different from his usual green eyes.

Meara's own wolf came forward turning her brown eyes golden, "You do not tell me what to do."

Lord Finnian growled, his canines elongating. That was probably when the fear settled into Meara's system. It wafted from her body in small waves and only fed the wolf in front of her. With a little more struggling, Meara started to cry, her age starting to overpower the wolf within her. With a deep breath, she wailed at the top off her lungs. The noise made the Lord pause and control his wolf, just as a booming growl erupted in the hall. Both Meara and Lord Finnian turned to see King Conan stalking forward, his golden eyes narrowed at the Beta.

"Da!" Meara whimpered just as the King growled out, "Release her."

Stiffly, Lord Finnian lowered the little girl in his hand, took a step back and lowered himself to the floor. Meara, once released, bounded into her father's awaiting arms and snuggled into his warm chest. A consoling hand rubbed her back.

"Control yourself, Old Friend." It was both a reprimand and a warning rolled into one. Even though it wasn't aimed at Meara, it still sent a knot forming in her stomach. The King turned and walked back to his study. Looking over his shoulder, Meara grinned at Lord Finnian as he met her eye and stuck her tongue out at him. This time he curled his lip at the girl as she disappeared around the corner with the king.

"Da?"

"Hmm?" The King glanced at his daughter from the corner of the room before he looked back down at the reports on his table.

"How long do I have to stand here?" Meara tilted her head as she heard him shift to another paper, her eyes staring dutifully at the patterns on the wall.

"Until you learn that it's not polite nor safe to constantly challenge my Beta."

Meara glowered at the wall, "I don't like Lord Finnian."

There was a pause in the ruffling of papers. "Oh? And what has Lord Finnian done to earn your distrust?"

"He looks at Queen Malika." Meara spoke quietly. "I don't like it."

Meara had never called the Queen "mother", but instead insisted on calling her by her name. It had worried King Conan, but he supposed it was Meara's way of showing respect towards her mother. He remembered when he first saw her. Malika, an Arabic woman sold in slavery. He felt an instant connection with her, and he didn't hesitate in killing her "Owner" and escaping to the Irish Moors. It was an accident that he had turned her, he never wanted her to have the torment of changing every month and never able to bear children. It was nerve-wracking as he waited for the change to either claim her life or gift her with a new one. Malika was strong though and became his mate and queen.

"Da…was it my fault?"

The King snapped his attention to the little girl standing face to the wall. Her hair was curly like his, but was black like her mothers and her skin tone between her two parents. He stood immediately, anger rushing into him. A little bit harsher than he meant to, he turned her to face him and with a ferocity he didn't mean spoke, "Never think that. Ever."

He sighed when her brown eyes—replicas of his Malika's—began to tear up. Gently, King Conan tucked his little princess' hair behind her ears and wiped away the stray tears on her cheeks. "You are her pride and joy and she will never, ever, regret what she did to give life to you."

Meara embraced her father and cried as he stroked her back in soothing circles. It was probably one of the most precious memories Meara had of her and her father.

Meara sighed, looking at the Warg pup lying on his side in her hut. His back foot twitched slightly. She would look after him for now. Well, until she had to leave to shadow Gandalf and his group of Dwarves. Maybe she could bring him with her, it would be a good opportunity to teach him how to stalk prey without being noticed. With a nod, Meara set aside the arrow heads and went to her makeshift bed. In the morning she would change and take the cub out on a hunt. With that in mind, Meara shut her eyes and drifted into a slumber.

When Alby woke the next morning, it was to the Silver Terror humans' hand gently stroking the fur on his neck. He growled slightly. "Hey, I can bite your hand off you know."

Instead of the fear he was hoping to scent he got a laugh instead. "My reflexes are far quicker than yours, young Alby."

Alby grunted as he stretched. He followed Meara out of the hut and wrinkled his nose at the stars that still shone brightly in the morning sky. Alby yawned and then turned a critical eye to Meara as she began to take off her clothes.

"What are you doing?"

"Changing into the form you know me as." With that said, Meara dropped to her knees and forearms and allowed the wolf forward. She was aware of Alby pacing around her, his hackles raised as she changed. As her face structure finally settled and the pain in her body ebbed away, she stood and shook her fur out.

"You're a skin changer?!" Alby practically shouted. He looked even smaller to Meara as she looked at the white pup.

"No, I am a werewolf." To her human self it sounded like nothing but yips and a growl, but it seemed that Alby could understand her just fine.

"Werewolves don't change their shape like that." Alby stated. He looked a little ruffled to Meara.

"I am not from this world, young Alby." She walked beside him and nipped his ear before she continued on into the forest. "Come, it's time for you to learn to hunt."

Alby trotted after her, his tail slightly wagging at the prospect of being taught by the Silver Terror.

He was seriously regretting ever thinking about having Meara teach him to hunt. She was a fierce killer, and a strict teacher. At first, she taught him to scent creatures, to follow their trail. Then she taught him to stalk, and now she was showing him how to kill a buck.

"You want to avoid the horns, Alby." She stated, "You aren't like me, you can't heal rapidly from an injury."

Her voice was sharp and commanding, demanding his full attention. It was already mid-day and he was starving. He hadn't been able to catch a single thing yet. It made him angry and frustrated. It would take a miracle if Meara could successfully teach him to hunt.

"Focus, Alby." Meara snapped her jaws near his flank, startling him out of his head. "You need to pay attention. If you aren't careful you can injure yourself or worse—die."

Alby gulped and shook the thought of failure from his head. He went to sniffing out for prey, following his nose just as Meara showed him. It seemed like he was walking in circles as he sniffed out prey, but it seemed useless. He could smell mice, he could smell birds and he could smell deer. Deer! He turned around to give a wolfish grin to Meara, but she was nowhere to be seen. He wondered where she went—surely she wouldn't leave him on his own to try and hunt deer? With an indignant huff, he turned back towards the scent of deer and followed the trail up a crested hill. He slowed as the scent grew stronger, hunkering low to the forest floor. He remained in the light as Meara instructed, using the light that shone down on his fur as camouflage. Carefully, he picked his way closer to the deer that were just visible behind the underbrush. He was in luck, two doe and not a buck insight.

He kept his eyes trained on the doe closest to him, his nostrils flaring and his mouth watering as he thought of attacking the doe. He took a step closer, pausing when the deer looked up from grazing. With a loud growl and teeth bared, Alby lunged forward his jaw clamping down around the does' throat. There was a satisfying crack and just to be sure, Alby shook the deer in his grip, blood spurting onto his tongue. Vaguely, he heard a howl that sounded like Meara and a strange noise. When he looked up at the sound of approaching feet, he saw the other doe in her jaws. She motioned for him to follow her, dragging her deer and leaving a small blood trail. Alby wanted to eat his deer right then and there, but complied with the Silver Terrors' wishes. Had she been following him the whole time, or had she taken another route to the deer? He didn't know. She was silent like a ghost, and he couldn't even smell her as her scent was practically everywhere in the territory. Alby thought that perhaps it would be okay if she taught him, if he could become as deadly as Meara, he could prove that he was just as much a warg as the rest of his kin.

When he dragged his deer into the clearing by Meara's hut, she was just reshaping back into her human form, her silver fur falling away and her back arched. It sounded painful to Alby, and just a little bit thrilling. With a grunt, Meara stood and dressed back in those skins that smelled faintly of deer but mostly of her. He eyed her as she approached him.

"Alby, give me the deer."

He growled at her. This was his deer. Why did she want it? She had her own.

Meara rolled her eyes. "Alby, I just want the skin, you can have the rest."

When he still didn't show any signs of letting the carcass go, Meara bared her teeth, allowing the wolf to come forward just enough to dominate over Alby's will. The Warg Pup whimpered and dropped the carcass, backing away slightly. Meara grabbed the deer and hung it up, then grabbed the other deer and put it beside that one, shoving the bucket underneath it and slitting its throat. While that one drained, Meara started skinning Alby's catch, ignoring the blood that oozed over her fingers and sprayed out. She would have to wash the skin to be usable, but it was worth having the extra skin.

Once she was finished, she lay the skin over the makeshift railing and took the bloody carcass down. She turned to Alby. "You can have it now."

She tossed the deer to him and he collided headlong into it as his jaws clamped onto it. Meara wrinkled her nose as blood splattered all over his white fur. What a messy eater, though she supposed it was mostly her fault for throwing the deer to him. She went into her hut, collecting a bowl to eat the rest of the leftovers from yesterday. She sat on the front step, eating carefully as she watched the warg pup tear into his meal with a ferocity and greed that put Meara's appetite to shame. He left nothing to spare, bone was chewed, meat swallowed, and soon only a small splatter of blood on the dirt and the blood staining Alby's white fur were the only signs that a carcass had been there before. Meara swallowed her last bite of food and set the bowl aside.

"Follow me, Alby."

The warg lifted his gaze from his paw, his tongue dragging across his muzzle to clean the blood. Cautiously, he stood and followed the werewolf to the far side of the clearing. Alby wasn't too sure about the woman anymore. He could feel her power very clearly when she was in her wolf form, but he had no idea she could also access that power as a human—and in all honesty, in either form, Meara's power was probably the most frightening thing he'd ever encountered in his small six months of life.

After a month of teaching Alby to hunt and fight, and preparing for her little favor for Gandalf, Meara found herself restless. A restless werewolf was never a good one. Despite her restlessness, Meara kept on with her duties. "Defend your underbelly. Guard your neck. This is the thirtieth time I've had to remind you, Alby."

The young wolf huffed indignantly. "How'm I supposed to be doing that exactly, when you won't stop moving."

Meara held in a snicker at the sound of the warg's exasperation. Much to the young pups chagrin, the moment he learned to defend his weak areas she would attack him at a different angle, "A good fighter knows how to defend themselves at all angles."

She nipped his underbelly, enough to break skin but not draw blood. He growled in frustration. "Why all angles? I doubt the wargs would stop to think enough to try and go in with a sneak attack."

Meara felt her ear twitch, "No, but from what I've seen, and what you should well know, Warg's hunt in packs, much like the lion prides in my old world. You need to be aware of where your weaknesses are and if they can be exploited by others."

The white warg pup grumbled, shaking himself, "Whatever. Let's do it again."

Meara gave a snort, "As admirable as your persistence is, young Alby, the sun will be setting soon. And tomorrow I take leave."

Alby scratched at his ear with his hind leg, "Leave? Where are you going?"

"There is something I must take care of. I'll be gone awhile I suppose."

The warg regarded her, eyes narrowed. He huffed, "What about my training to be a good hunter?"

Meara paused and thought about it. She couldn't leave him here, she knew that. His presence here might attract other Wargs or creatures without her scent to mask his own and it had taken her quite a bit of time to rid these parts of unpleasant creatures. Maybe she could take him…as a learning experience. A test to see how much he's learned and the skills he's required. If Meara were human she'd have raised a brow at the young warg, but as it were, her lips wrinkled to reveal her teeth, not a displeasing look in her eye but one of contemplation. "If you go, it will be a test to see all you've learned, it will not be easy, and Alby"—her voice drew sharp to gain his utmost attention—"What we will hunt will not be for eating."

The warg looked taken aback, "What would be the point in hunting something if you can't eat it?"

Meara rolled her eyes as she turned away and walked back towards her cabin. As expected and out of habit, the warg followed, persistent as always with his questions. "Will you skin what we hunt and then eat it?"—"No."—"Will you use it to catch something bigger?"—"No."—"Then why"—

"For goodness sake's Alby, it is strictly a tracking exercise. What you will be practicing hunting will be under my protection—it is a favor for someone I know." Meara felt her exasperation leak out of her in waves. It was different though than the other times she felt the irritation. This one had more fondness in it than she would dare look into.

"A favor for who exactly?" The ever curious warg questioned, loping beside her with a sideways glance at her.

"An acquaintance."

The warg made a noise deep in his throat, "Yes, but who?"

"Good lord, Alby. Do you ever not ask questions?" Meara groaned out, nipping at his foreleg in a bout of pseudo-anger.

Alby just let his tongue loll out of his mouth as he sped his lope up a bit. "Weren't you the one who encouraged me to ask questions?"

Meara let out a puff of air, "I did, didn't I?"

"Yes, now who is this favor for?"

Meara rolled her eyes, "If you must know, the favor is for Gandalf the Grey."

The warg pup paused a moment. "Who?"

Meara just snorted at the warg, "Come, we have preparations to take care of."

"What kind of preparations?" Alby sniffed, bounding into the clearing that held their home.

Meara lowered herself as she slid into her change, a growl coming out of her mouth that steadily turned into a more humanistic groan. Like always after each change, she rested for a moment in a crouched position and caught her breath. "It will be a long journey, Alby."

She stood then, and walked into her cabin, grabbing the clothes she'd left out from the morning. Grabbing several bags, she began to prepare, ignoring the look that the young warg was giving her. Rubbing at her forehead, she thought of the previsions they would need. Well, she would need. She had thirty arrows. A new bow. Her blade sharpened and ready. And the throwing knife set Lord Elrond gave her, polished to shine even in the dark and resting in their individual storage pockets on her belt. Setting those aside, she laid out her cloak, to which she had darkened to a green. Her boots she'd created a little less than a month ago were broken in and ready for a long journey.

"Get some sleep, Alby," Meara turned away, and crawled onto her cot, "We leave at first light tomorrow."

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