Barrow Fields crows lie, strewn their eyes are

Anselm took no further steps back, but whatever part of him had made the decision to hear Sam out had no political clout in the landscape of his face. His expression remained surly.

"Vhy?"

Sam licked his lips, ears falling slack as he debated how best to relay what he knew.  "I think something is taking wolves – voolves. Something old, and bad." Short, simple, and without W – out of respect, Sam thought,  proud that he could be so culturally sensitive in a time of such stress.