Barrow Fields crows lie, strewn their eyes are

Sam watched Anselm as one might watch kindling in a rainstorm, hoping against hope that his words would spark something other than rage in the marked wolf. But no - before Sam could say anything else, he was roughly shoved to the side. 

”Wait —! Stay out of forests and—!” he yelled at Anselm’s departing back, but it was no use. He wasn’t coming back. Sam slumped into the sort of clumsy sit that would trigger any strict father worth their salt, and watched as Anselm and the alien thing clinging to his neck became smaller and smaller. ”And don’t die,” he finished, speaking to no-one.