Wander

A small man a hobbit of sorts, small strides wandering kicking sticks rustling leaves traveled great distances with great determination.Steady progress no emotion his life's mission his hair thinning and unkept.Dirt under his fingernails ,callused hard working hands.Where is he going with such unwavering determination.It seems his girlfriend had been bitten by a wolf the night before,and he was going to teach those wolfs what for.In his good hand he carried a dry stick,a club of sorts,he let it dangle loosely yet ready to strike.On he went.Around is neck a satchel in it some food and meager supplies.He will be able to build a fire,and look for the reflection of their eyes.He will search for a day and a night,if nothing else he will instill an awareness and make known his presence.Such lack of fear almost reckless,its getting cooler now.He will need some food,no sign of the wolves he shall stop before darkness and nap,eat build a fire then pear into the night.