Quill inkwell was a writer. A famous of sorts. He wrote bookes and papers and literatuer for sure. He loved his writing and never was spiteing Quill Inkwell what a sort
As he heard the howls of the timberwolves get closer and closer, a sense of anticipation grew inside vynl. He turned to the lake near him and checked his war paint in the reflection; this was going to be one hell of a fight, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to look his best. With a curt nod of approval directed at nopony in particular he faced the direction from where the howls, now loud enough to drown out all ambient noise, came from. It took another minute or two before vynl could finally smell the foul stench of the wolves' breath. At that moment, he knew that every one of those beasts was close enough to pick up on even the slightest noise he made. So he screamed like a little girl and ran away. The timberwolves fully deserved their reputation as the fiercest hunters in the Everfree forest. They were relentless pursuers, known to hound their prey for days at a time. Vynl wouldn't be shaking them off anytime soon. Not that he was planning to. While vynl was known as a fearless warrior, a fool he was not, and he knew very well that engaging an entire pack of timberwolves head-on would be suicide. Tricking them into giving chase and then leading them into the den of a notoriously cranky dragon, however, was quite possibly the best idea he'd ever had. There was no way in hell that anything could go wrong.
