Snarling at the master’s side he guards the citadel, Bred for centuries to assume the task.

Snarling, he hounds traitors and intruders alike, Waiting for his reward; plate scraps.

Snarling, he chases enemies with ghastly fangs, Tearing at scrawny, human flesh.

Snarling, he vanquishes all threats to the master, Father to the new-born child’s soft cries.

Snarling, he paces about the child’s small basket, Holding the fort when the master leaves.

Snarling, at the sound of wolves, he awaits Alpha, Never leaving the young one’s crib.

Snarling as Alpha trespasses, seeking small prey, Attacking he fights a valiant fight.

Snarling, he clashes with Alpha; claws and teeth, Until the beast falls behind the door.

Snarling, the master sees the blood splattered,

Wailing for his child’s safety he turns to Hound…

Snarling the master unsheathes his sword, angered, Not seeing Alpha’s mutilated corpse.

Snarling the master plunges his sword into Hound, As the child starts to weep for his guard.

Snarling, the master drags Alpha’s body to water, Sobbing, the master buries his faithful hound.