Story for Story

Fever found herself in the company of her mother on a bright, sunny afternoon. The young fae was shielded beneath an overhang of stone, lest her dark coat absorb too much of the spring suns heat. It was always easy to find Fever. Unlike her siblings and other wolves of the pack, the girl had no desire to leave Elysium lands. Everything that she needed and wanted was right here, either in front of her or just behind her sleeping eyelids.

It was evident that the smoke and fire child would never grow to be a large, imposing figure. Her baby fat had melted away for the most part, leaving her dainty and lean. An interesting thing, considering how larger her mother and father were. Thyrus was rather small as well. Somewhere in their lineage there were little wolves. There had to be.

"Grandpa Moros was telling me stories about Papa Alastor," the girl informed her mother. "He was telling me about the strength of our bloodline. I'm not strong though. I'll never be able to fight like you or father." The girl's brow furrowed. "How am I supposed to make our bloodline proud?"

"Fever Mendacium"