[sayn]

I have the book Polgara the Sorceress right in front of me so I'm going to leave a few paragraphs.

That subterranean little game Aunt Pol and her father had played with each other for centuries and produced a surprise winner, a winner they hadn’t even realized was taking part in their game. They’d spent three thousand years nipping at each other in half−serious play, and for all that time, the wolf Poledra had watched them play, patiently waiting for them to squirm around into the exact position where she wanted them to be, and then she had pounced.
“You’d understand that, wouldn’t you, Wolf?” she murmured to her son’s companion.
Wolf opened his golden eyes and thumped his tail briefly on the bed in acknowledgment.
That startled Ce’Nedra just a bit. Wolf seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. Who was this Wolf anyhow? She quickly pushed that thought into the back of her mind. The possibility that Wolf might not be who − or what − he seemed was something Ce’Nedra wasn’t prepared to deal with just now.

This next paragraph is the last of the book.

Wolf lay there on the foot of Geran’s bed looking at the dying fire in the fireplace with those golden eyes of his for quite a long time. Everything seemed to be as it was supposed to be, so Wolf sighed contentedly, stretched his muzzle out on his front paws, and went back to sleep.


Maybe David & Leigh Eddings put these scenes in the book so that our imaginations can take over and so that we can form our own opinions. Authors have done that before.