Éomer studied the puppies as if he’d never seen such creatures before. They tumbled over the floor with high-pitched barks, sniffing the straw, playfully snapping at one another.
“Any one I want?” Éomer asked, as if afraid Théodred would take back his promise.
“Any one you want.”
After a moment, Théodred realized that his young cousin wasn’t watching the wiggling pile of little dogs; he was watching one puppy, a speckled fellow, sitting alone in the corner of the pen.
“Him,” Éomer said, pointing. “The little one.” His expression was sympathetic. “ He looks like he wants a friend.”