The Crow and The Wolf

Chapter 6

6.

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The wind blew furiously across the field, and the fire flames roared with passion; their colours ranged from orange to blue. Valeria peered long and hard into the ambers, her yearning to learn more about the pack's past intensifying. She knew that the fire held secrets of the past, and she hoped to uncover them through the dancing flames. The howling wind only added to the mystery and allure of the fire, as if it were beckoning her to delve deeper into its secrets.

This was Valeria's favourite part of the bonfire, as well as the history and traditions of the Claw Pack. She was well aware of how history might be distorted through propaganda to promote the interests of those with vested interests.

The elders in her pack were wise and filled with stories that would keep her tamed for the next three winters. They were storytellers, each giving a story from their point of view as they perceived things. Every year, the elders, which included ancient warriors, doctors, and a few heads, would deliver a story. Their stories were not just entertainment, but a way to pass down knowledge and wisdom to the younger generations, ensuring that history was preserved and not distorted by those with ulterior motives. As she listened to their tales, she couldn't help but feel grateful for their willingness to share their experiences and insights with her.

Elder Marcus Wilton was the featured speaker this year. He was the oldest of the bunch, having lived for three centuries. He was a warrior, a Sentinel, and Valeria believed he told the best stories.

Footsteps echoed across the field, and all that could be heard was the wind roaring. The tingling fragrance of wood and cinnamon roused them all, and they bowed slightly in respect to the elderlies who sat on the ground in front of the pack. The pack trailed behind The Heads, and the talk began all over again. A shudder raced up her spine as she watched the elderly chat amongst themselves, but her gaze was fixed on Elder Wilton.

His gold-brown eyes gazed over the pack, his grey hair that floated across his back now being blown slightly with the harsh wind, and she couldn't help but be in awe of the man. He was three hundred years old, although he appeared to be in his late fifties to her.

"Many names recognised us; some named us pelts; some only remembered our sharp claws, not like they couldn't; they left marks," he said, reaching out his hands to the flames in comfort.

Valeria could feel herself slipping into the story, into his soft words, and she nearly forgot why she hadn't returned.

Nearly.

"We weren't known for our war skills, and our names didn't inspire dread in the enemy. No, they feared us simply because of the pelts on our backs, and no opponent would try to fight us since they would surely be defeated, but one enemy dared and succeeded in causing much anguish to my home to this day."

"I was but a young warrior who had just entered the ranks, and that's when it began," he stood up determinedly, his gaze never leaving the fire. "Wolves began to vanish, first the females, then the males. Before long, groups would disappear one by one. Nobody knew what was going on, and we were all terrified of the unknown, afraid that our loved ones would vanish while we slept in the room next door,"

"We never saw or heard the enemy; there was never a scent to work with. So the alpha imposed a curfew and a lockdown, with no one permitted out after sundown except the troops. He had doubled the patrol at the borders, outlawed travel and even went so far as to implement a nightly census,"

"This worked for a while, but it only added to our anxiety. And soon, wolves began to fall ill, with a new patient appearing every day. Shifters can fall sick, but it's rare, and some of us believed it was fiction. The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong, and soon the disappearances resumed," he explained.