Branwenn had awaken to the sound of wolves in the distance, her emerald eyes shooting wide as she sat up. Dark raven curls falling unruly about her pale shoulders as she looked to Donald. Rookâ€™s ears twisted as he whinnied, alert to the wolves cries. She softly turned to Donald and gently slapped his cheeks, â€œDonald...â€ she frowned getting no response, â€œAye! Donald!â€<br/><br/>Her eyes panicked scanned the clearing, the moon was high and she gulped seeing shadows moving along the edges of the forest. She then looked to Rook; the whites of the great welshâ€™s once docile eyes were showing in fear.<br/><br/>She looked around, patting the ground wildly for a stick or anything. Her fingers found naught. Blinking she bit her lip. Donaldâ€™s sword! Swinging around she looked to the sleeping man and the sword at his side, ehâ€¦it didnâ€™t look that heavy. With steady hands she pulled the sword and panted as she lifted it with trembling arms. She had been wrong, this thing was heavy. A few beads of sweat trickled from her temples as she watched the first wolf approach.<br/><br/>â€œDonald! Now would be a spot time to awaken!â€ The wolf charged and Rook sped off, three of the wolves shooting off to chase the beast while the first wolf had their eyes upon the maiden wielding a soldiers sword. Puffing out her chest she hollered at the beast. â€œWELL COME ON THEN YOU COWARDLY CLATTY BASSA!â€ Her cheeks flushed having used such horrid language in front of Donald, not that she always used such language, but that he may have heard her.