Wulf walks up to the fortified keep the Rohirrim call the Hornburg, stopping right behind firing range so that archers upon the walls may not get him. Behind him is General Targg and the bound form of Hama, son of Helm. He pulls his head up to look at the ramparts, his dark eyes seeking the forms of his most detested enemies. He is quiet for a long moment, the sound of the breeze whispering behind the mountains the only sound.

"So, you have decided to hide in your stone walls, cowering like frightened children."

He cries, his words directed at the Rohirrim above. He throws Hama roughly from Targg's horse, setting his curved dagger to Hama's neck. An action aimed to mock Helm—who could do nothing but look upon the defenselessness of his son.

"Hear me now, King of Rohan! I bring a gift, the kind my father's murderer deserves!"

Maybe Hama could have been used as a bargaining chip, but Wulf frankly did not care. He does not heed the exchange proposed by Helm or even the advice of his own general. With a swift slash, he ends the life of the young horse-lord, letting his body drop to the dusty ground. Wulf remains cold and unsmiling, though now his face twists into a snarl. He points his curved blade at the fortress, shouting for all to hear.

"Take heed, Rohirrim. When I crack your defence, you too shall meet his fate!"

General Targg shakes his head at the hot-headed (and quite frankly foolish) lord's doing, bracing himself for a hard winter.