Beginning

The night brought strange dreams to the man's head. In his dream he was running down an old and worn dirt trail through the forest. He was running in formation with a mighty host of wolves. Enough to make up a pack. And every one of them carrying on them a scent he knew oh so well. It was the heavy scent of a Zaraidd. It was a rich and royal smelling scent, that could be tracked back through the pages of time. And here they all where, a host of voices, dozens strong. Then, at once, two wolves broke off from the formation. They where unfamiliar to Newol, but he still felt their names in his heart. One clad in the timber grey pelt that had been worn by Zaraidd kings for decades, Runner. The should be king who ran away. And beside him a solid white female, Molly. A mated pair. He didn't quite understand, but from what he felt, Runner had found something that made him happy. And with that, he didn't want to fight the world anymore.

Looking forward, Newol saw a light way off in the distance, that seemed to be getting no closer. Turning to his side, he saw three wolves that he knew by heart. Knew them from all the stories. Three wolves, one clad in the same timber pelt as their father, and standing high above the rest as a massive figure. Zaratul, the Greatest King. And on ether side of him where Ryo, a brown female, and Ryan, a black male. All of them one of the finest generations of Zaraidd. Molly's children. And once, Ryo and Ryan turned and looked at each other and nodded their heads, then both of them moved in to gently nuzzle their big brother in farewell. Then as one, the two of them broke from the formations. And at once, Newol felt the festering darkness swell inside of Zaratul's chest, and he understood. Ryan had been killed by the Tyrant. And Ryo had given up the will to live after suffering a still birth. Leaving the shoulders that the greatest era of his family line would be build upon all alone in this world. As Newol ran along side this spectral image of his great grandfather, a wave of tears fell from his eyes. Beside the great mountain of a wolf was a sand brown fea that Newol recognized as well. It was easy, as she was missing the top half of her left ear. Alia. The Great Queen. And on his other side, a snow white male, even younger that Newol was, barely older than a boy, who already carried the rank of Alpha, a Zaraidd from another part of the world. He had had the title dropped on him by his superior who'd ran away from everything. It was both a beautiful and terrible site. To see someone ill prepared for a position they held, and yet still see them trying. There where many others present too.

Then, at once a dark cloud or wolves covered in shadows appeared behind them all. They where faceless and nameless and all consuming. Looking to his great grandfather questioningly, he saw the great wolf reach down with his snout to nuzzle his mate tenderly, then, tears began to fall from her eyes. He took one look to his other side and saw Shadow swallow hard then settle his face into a snarl, and when he realized what was about to happen it was already too late. At once, they both came to a dead stop and spun on their feet and leap with out stretched claws and bellowing battle cries into the shadows. And the shadows slowed. They made it a bit further then, Aila the great Queen turned and sprang at the shadows. She held on for only as much longer than her mate as she had to. And in her place came two other wolves. One of which Newol had actually met in his lifetime. One was an equally huge wolf named Runner the Second. Zaratul's son. Behind his right ear was a green feather, the symbol of a pack he had joined in the wilderness before returning home. And on the other side was a wolf clad in the pelt of a Manned wolf. A child born of rape. Natoma. One of Zaratul's many adopted children. Both of them hot headed and rebellious. Each of them strong and furious. They carried with them their parents' wrath and ruin. They held in their paws the will to make something better of this world.

And so it began. The wolves of this great formation that Newol ran in turns stopped, turned, and dove out to meet the shadows in a furious roar. Some in groups of twos and threes. Some turned and fell upon in all alone. Natoma gave his adopted brother one last lick behind his ear, then he turned too and dove out. And as he did, on shadow in particular jumped up to meet him, this one in the shape of a Manned wolf. Looking to his left, Newol noticed a unfamiliar wolf to him. One that felt so very familiar. One that he felt he very well knew, even though he knew he didn't. This wolf had yellow eyes, and a sand brown pelt. On his lower back the fur faded to a much darker brown that ran down the top half of his tail and the outside of his thighs. But then, Newol's father came up beside him, and his eyes went wide with shock. Snapping his head to his right, he saw his mother. His birth mother. The woman who had actually grown him inside of her womb. And once again he realized what was about to happened. It all clicked in that one moment. Looking over his mother's shoulder, he saw Runner the Second give one last proud look over the two of them at his son, then he too turned and charged out to stand alongside his adopted brother. Frantic, Newol reached out with his snout and yelled for his mother not to go. Not to follow suit with the rest. For her to stay this time at his side. But she shook her head no, and as his father turned and dove, she fell back, giving him one last firm shove on his rump with her snout, telling him as she always had to run and get away from all of this, then she was gone. Her and her mate both. Newol's birth mother and father, and all the others that where left, all at once turned and at one fell upon the shadows like a wall of anger and rage and unforgiving hatred.

And then it was just Newol and the wolf with the yellow eyes. With one final push, the made it to that light and came flying out of the tunnel of trees into a bright clearing. A grassy field. Slowing to a trot, they brought themselves to a stop and looked at each other. Something festered in the other male's yellow eyes, and so Newol reached out with his snout to try and comfort the other. After all, he was somehow family. But before he could, the brute batted him away, softly, with one paw. And that's when he recognized what it was in the other's eyes. It was the scar left where madness lurked. And with that, the yellow eyed male turned on his paws and began to walk away. Turning to examine his new setting, Newol's eyes fell upon a white female he knew all too well. Erani. His adopted mother. With a sudden burst of excitement, he ran over to her and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. She then tapped him with her nose, and he looked up, spotting his mate Serra just a few yards away waiting for him at a new treeline. As he saw her, a smile spread his face. Then, Erani pointed with her nose to the ground, and Newol looked as she did so.

There on the ground before him where a large collection of paper rectangles with black scribbly markings on them. They where bond in the middle by thread to a thick peace of leather that housed them. He sat there, just looking at it for a moment. Then, a feeling washed over him and he knew at once what to do. Reaching down with his snout, he nosed one side of the object up, and as he did so it folded in the middle. Once it made it half way, he brought his paw to it's face and pushed it the rest of the way closed. On it's thick leather face was one word he did recognize. Zaraidd. His family name. Again he found himself unable to turn his gaze away from it for a moment. His paw still resting on top of the cover. But the time had come, he thought. Looking up, he saw Erani and Serra, and then he took one last look at the strange seven letter word for the last time. Then he lifted his paw and the three of them walked to the tree line together.



The brutes eyes opened slowly as he awoke from the deep sleep and the dream. It was cold, he could tell. Even in the small dugout he had dug underneath a large boulder. It wasn't so bad, though, as he felt the warmth at his side of his mate. Lifting his head from his paws slowly, his eyes closed as he yawned, then took in a deep breath of the cool, crisp, morning air, the sunlight just starting to flood over the horizon. He'd slept well. For the first time sense returning to this forest, he'd slept like a rock. Turning to look at the woman beside him, a smile spread his groggy face. That's when it occurred to him, he couldn't consider her his mate just yet. He'd allowed formally proposing to her to completely slip his mind in the busy clutter of things. And so he toyed with that thought in his mind for a moment. All his goals. All his ambitions. He still planed to chase after them, so it wouldn't be all sunshine and rainbows to stand at his side. It would be difficult at times. And he knew it. So he found himself wondering if she'd accept him even if he did propose. Would she actually want to be a Zaraidd?

At that he gave his head a light shake, as that last thought hadn't been right at all. His last name was, after all, Adravendi.
"Burn Baby Burn"