The Fox of Amon Sul

As Imrathon and I took the final slope up to Amon Sul, I saw the crebain. They were swarming over something I could not make out, though I knew it to be a corpse. I swiftly drew my bow, readying an arrow, before a cry within the circle of birds stayed my hand. One of the foul avians swiped with its talon at the creature, and I let loose an arrow into its neck. With it gone, I could now see the fox-kit, quivering above the remains of his mother, fur stained red. He was young, a few moons from being weaned. 

I slew the birds, setting them aside so that I may roast them later, and knelt before the kit. Although he was nervous, he came to me easily. I noticed he was injured; his left hind leg seemed broken. Imrathon neighed behind me; the sun was setting and kit's mother's remains were sure to draw more crebain to the area. Should I desire to save the little creature, we had to leave now. I put the roast fowl in a pouch, removing my cloak and wrapping the fox inside.

Now we sit in the Prancing Pony in Bree-land. I have aided the fox to the point my skill allows, and he seems to have calmed after the bath I have given him. He loves to wander, as I have noticed from his constant exploration of the room we are in; I have had to block the door to keep him from trying to escape. He is weary of most peoples, be they Men, Dwarves, Hobbits, or even other elf-kin, but insists on being in my company. I have decided to call him Carandir, for the red blood which previously stained his fur, and his explorative, wandering nature.