New Lits 2011: Warg's Tail

So, been thinking about the re-write.

I've had a few ideas, but one that came upon me today while vacuuming went a little like this:
In Middle-Earth, there is a creature known as a Warg. Wargs are the result of centuries of inbreeding, crossbreeding and the perversion of an otherwise perfectly good wild canine formerly known as Canis Lupus.

Wargs are more along the lines of Canis Horrificus. They have huge, bear-like jaws, prehensile necks and beady eyes set back on their heads. They measure up to five feet tall at the heavily muscled shoulder, ten feet long from snout to tail and are covered in short, dense hair. They are vicious and cunning and have no qualms when it comes to eating humans (or elves or dwarves, or hobbits, who are particularly bite-sized).

They've been like this for years upon years, and an unholy alliance between them and goblins has kept them this way - and in all probability their genetic warping will keep them going this way. Of course, you and I have a better understanding of genetics, so this next part probably won't come as such a shock. It came as a shock to the Wargs though.

Perhaps ten years before the One Ring came into the possession of one Frodo Baggins and that whole debacle sparked off, a litter of Wargs was whelped within the shadow of the Misty Mountains. Six were large, robust creatures with coal-dark pelts, sturdy little legs and needle-sharp milk teeth. Whelps.

The seventh was not. He was a buddle of dark fluff barely the size of terrier, forever falling over or being sat on by his siblings and couldn't wrestle to save himself. He was a runt, a throwback, a...a puppy.

He was not a Warg, but a wolf.

It was a miracle he lived beyond his first hour. But he did, and was named Ralph (which, funnily enough, means 'wolf council' in modern man-speech, though Ralph was not to know this). His mother kept him mostly for the sake of comic relief, and because it meant she had more whelps than the bitch in the next run, who only had six. Ralph turned out to be a constant disappointment, however; he did not like to fight, only to run and chase rabbits, and seemed to have no interest in the taste of man-flesh, or dwarf-flesh, or any other kind of two-legger flesh.

Then, when Ralph was five, the pack were moved to Isengard - Saruman the White's strong hold - to become fighters for the wizard's growing forces. After a year in the fighting-ring (the pits where Wargs are trained for combat) he had had enough.

Ralph fled into Fangorn Forest...and by some miracle was not eaten by the angry trees there (and it really is a miracle, because those huorn? They are one cranky bunch of branchs.)