"If we don't end war, war will end us."
                                          - H G Wells.
 
The day began like any other. With the rising of the sun, and the mournful howl of the wolves; lamenting the loss of the moon.

The clearing, buried deep in the heart of the valley, welcomed the sun later than most other areas of the Cyan territory. Surrounded by a vast canopy of oaks, elms and walnut trees, the open space had been cleared of all undergrowth by hand. Another just like it lay nearly half a mile to the south. A third, two miles westward on the other side of the river. Only regular maintenance kept the encroaching vegetation at bay.

An array of wooden structures dotted the clearing. Some tall and imposing. Entire tree trunks raised high off the ground to create monumental, criss-crossing obstacle courses. Others crudely bound together to simulate the human form. It was here that the wolves learned to fight.

A solitary crow fluttered down into the bare branches of a young tree, right on the edge of the clearing; its claws scraping new marks into the exposed wood to join the deep grooves from all the dawns that came before.

Fadrir was young, only a couple of years from the nest, but well versed in the art of subterfuge. His glossy black feathers blended in well with the shadows; his master’s spell wrapping tightly around him, helping to hide their presence. He ruffled his feathers, but resisted the urge to chitter, the call sure to catch the ears of the wolves below.

His master’s approval flowed over him, and he flexed his claws with pleasure as he peered down between the leaves.

The lack of light didn't bother the naturally nocturnal wolves, and by the time the first streaks of light filtered through the trees, a training session was well under way.

On the ground below, five figures stood around a sixth; older and skilled in ways his students could not yet fathom.

The sharp scent of canine rose up through the branches, and the bird shuddered with disgust. Wolves, urgh... do they have to smell so awful?

A ripple of humour that wasn't his own caught Fadrir unawares; he always forgot his thoughts weren't his alone. Fluffing out his neck feathers, he refocused his attention on the trainer below.

Unlike the other wolves in attendance - who almost all sported a variety of partially successful facial hair - the trainer was clean shaven and almost completely bald. His brow descended low over his eyes as he talked; a silver blade rolling between his fingers.

It was easy to see why he'd been named master at arms. Over the last few months, the crow had observed him train these pups in every conceivable melee weapon; each one dancing in his hands like an extension of his own body. A deadly opponent.

Fadrir paid very little attention to his words. Crows had little use for lessons in hand-to-hand combat. But he observed with interest the focus of the mornings lesson; a padded Pell strung from a rope on the end of a raised pole. A red circular stain sat directly over its heart. As he watched, the trainer gave it a shove, and it began a circular rotation, the target swinging back and forth out of view.

This is new. The bird leaned as far forward as he dared as a scrawny youth approached, a blade of his own clutched in a sweaty fist.

The trainer watched him square up to his target with sceptical eyes. Then, just as his student moved to strike, he gave the Pell a second shove, sending it flying into the youth's surprised face. The boy flew backwards, the knife falling from his hand to land point down in the dirt.

The others all burst into joyous, mocking laughter as their companion pulled himself from the floor with a grimace and a bloody nose.

“Oh, you think you can do better, do you?” The trainer cocked a finger at the largest would-be-warrior, indicating the still-swinging Pell.

“Of course, Master Kirrin.”

Full of confidence, this one. Fadrir ruffled his feathers; a hint of amusement running through his duel conscious.

The boy stepped forward, head high, chest puffed out, and Master Kirrin twitched his lip but showed no other outward reaction.

The Pell swung round once again, and the boy stepped forward, swinging his arm in tandem, clearly intending to swipe at the target before his trainer could ambush him. His gamble failed spectacularly; a particularly violent shove sending the padded figure flying towards his exposed chest. Unable to stop his forward motion, the boy took the full brunt of the impact, flying further and landing with an even sharper crack than his companion.

A broken arm, at least, Fadrir observed coolly.

The other boys fell silent.

The fifth trainee and the object of Fadrir's keen scrutiny stood slightly apart from the others; her vivid blue eyes tracking the Pell’s movements carefully. Her slight frame belied the strength Fadrir knew she possessed. The smallest of all the trainees, she was the only female in their group.

Hands settling on his hips, Kirrin cast his eyes over his remaining trainees. “Can anyone tell me where he –”

A high-pitched, tinny shriek smothered the rest of his question, startling the wolves.

Kirrin’s suspicious gaze swept the nearby trees, searching for any potential threat.

Hidden within the early morning shadows, Fadrir’s furious eyes fell upon the source of the disturbance. An indignant blackbird, more persistent than the birds around it, and apparently determined to alert the entire forest to the predator hanging around in the branches of its tree.

Crows were killed on sight if spotted on Cyan land. Most other birds of prey suffered the same fate; competitors for the now limited resources. As a result, the smaller birds had become overly confident... and twice as inconvenient. It let out another shriek; the call agitating the birds nearby.

Fadrir glared at it with a predator’s gaze. If you don't pipe down, I'm going to eat you.

He didn't know if it had understood and heeded his warning. Perhaps there had simply been a dawning realisation that it was drawing too much attention to itself to guarantee survival. Either way, the irritating little bird flew off in a cloud of feathers; and silence descended blissfully over his tree.

Bloody birds.

A tug at his conscious reminded him of his mission, and he focused once again on the vastly inept attempts of the trainee warriors to copy the master's move.

After scanning the forest with furrowed brow, Kirrin helped the breathless boy to his feet and let out a long and patient sigh. “Move out of the way,” he ordered the other trainees.

He stepped up to the swinging target and gave it a good hard shove. It swung violently back at him. The warrior's muscles rippled as he took the full impact of the wooden Pell, but instead of falling, his body rolled to the side, moving with the figure. As the impact continued, his arm whipped out, thrusting his small knife deep within the Pell's centre. A killing blow.

“Never allow your opponent to control the impact. Your body is your best weapon, so learn to utilise it.” He gave the remaining three a fierce glare. “Well? We have time for one more. Who's next?”

No one moved. The boy with blood still trickling down his face shook his head. The second cradled his broken arm moodily, though his eyes suggested he longed for a second chance. The remaining boys exchanged glances, clearly hoping one of the others would play sacrifice.

Fadrir was not surprised when the girl stepped up. Her eyes flicked nervously between the Pell and the weapons master; clearly waiting for permission.

Master Kirrin raised an eyebrow, the twitch appearing at the corner of his lips once again, and he nodded his consent.

Her demeanour changed instantly. A narrowing of her eyes and a thinning of her lips showed the only evidence of her nerves. She clutched her blade firmly in her fist, her body braced in a defensive stance. The Pell flew in her direction.

Fadrir winced, bracing himself for the obvious impact, fully expecting a multitude of broken bones.

Sure enough, she hit the padded surface with a soft thump, the impact propelled her body to the side and down into a hard roll across the floor. For a moment, she failed to move, and a wave of concern rushed through the bird’s now trembling body.

The girl let out a low groan, one hand reaching to rub at her shoulder. It didn't look broken, but it would definitely hurt for a couple of days.

“Not bad,” Kirrin guffawed below. “Not bad at all.”

The girl looked up in surprise, brushing the hair out of her eyes. And there, in the still-swinging Pell, sat her blade, embedded in the figure's side. Not a killing blow exactly, but a critical injury nonetheless.

Impressive, Fadrir admitted.

Not long after, with the sun now touching the far edges of the clearing; the trainees dispersed to lick their wounds. But the trainer wasn't quite done for the day. “Evie? Could I have a word?”

The girl paused, reluctance in the set of her shoulders. She clearly knew what Kirrin wanted to discuss and, just as clearly, didn't wish to participate. “Yes, master Kirrin?”

The crow hopped forward as far as it dared, eager to listen in.

The weapons master observed her a moment, his expression unreadable. “Nice work,” he finally said. “Glad to see one of you was listening.”

“Thank you.” A small smile tugged at her lips.

His brow furrowed slightly as he looked her over. “I was surprised to see you here this morning.”

“Why?”

The master's frown deepened. “Well, what with the announcement last night and all, I thought you'd have other things on your mind?”

“Oh, that.” Her lips tightened, a stray lock of hair falling across her eyes. “I still need to train.”

Fadrir tightened his grip on the tree branch. The tense excitement he felt radiating through his mind clenched his claws so tightly they were at risk of snapping clean through the brittle wood. Could this be it?

“I’d offer my congratulations, but... have you given him your answer?”

An evasive expression stole over the girls’ delicate features. “No, not yet. He gave me the week to think it through.”

Kirrin's eyes widened. “Evie!” he admonished. “When the Alpha's grandson chooses you to be his Luna, you don't ‘take the time to think it through’... You say yes! Preferably with a modicum of enthusiasm.”

“It – it is an honour,” Evie mumbled. Although respectful, her tone bore a hint of mutiny. “And Michael will be a wonderful Alpha. I just... I don't know if I'm... suited to be a Luna.”

No, she wants to be a warrior, Fadrir snorted. Months of observation had more than proven the strength of her determination.

Kirrin let out a heavy sigh and shook his head, disapproval behind the look he offered her. “You will be a great Luna, Evie.” He spoke as though the decision had already been made. “So, you might not become the warrior you planned to be. But you can still fight. And as Luna, you can help the pack in so many other ways.”

The girl continued to scowl at the floor, her features set in the same sort of stubbornness she'd used to defeat the Pell. Finally, she looked up at her weapon's master, her expression now carefully neutral. “Thank you for your advice, Master Kirrin. I will consider it very carefully.”

The master raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Just don't take too long, Evie. An Alpha's ego is not something to be trifled with.”

She nodded her agreement and turned to trail after the others, her expression conflicted.

Fadrir watched her disappear into the trees. He would have lingered longer, but a violent tug in his chest demanded his attention. He took off, flying stealthily from tree to tree, each landing immediately followed by another that kept him moving eastwards.

Just beyond the pack border, well hidden in the vast hollow of a dying oak tree, the source of the tugging lay prone in a pile of well-rotted leaves. Even if the wolves searched all day, it was unlikely they'd spot him.

The rich smell of loam and decomposing wood smothered his scent. His body curled tightly into a foetal position; his breath barely perceptible. As still as the dead, his milky-white eyes stared blankly at nothing. Even the bugs felt free to crawl all over him.

It wasn't until the crow landed lightly at the hollow’s entrance that the body exhibited any signs of life. He blinked. Once, then again; the eyelids sliding slowly down, then snapping back open as though their owner had temporarily forgotten how to close his eyes.

The crow hopped into the rot to stare at his face; its head tilted to the side in avid curiosity. It pecked lightly at his earlobe. Get up, Hakirii, you've got work to do.

The eyes rolled wearily in the crow’s direction, and Hakirii's long limbs began to reluctantly unfurl. He pulled himself tremulously into an upright position, invertebrates falling from his clothing like leaves from a shaken tree. He carefully removed a spider from his shoulder before allowing himself the luxury of a stretch and a drawn-out yawn.

The bird fluttered backwards, unperturbed by the display; its eyes fixed on an escaping bug near his feet. A short snap later, and it vanished forever; the crows chuckle of contentment a reminder that neither of them had enjoyed the luxury of breakfast that morning.

He acknowledged the bird with a tilt of his head. "Thank you, Fadrir."

Free from its restraints, the bird let out a raspy caw and flew away; off to seek out a more substantial meal.

His mind preoccupied by the girl at the training grounds, Hakirii stood; ignoring the creak of his protesting joints. I must report this. Trying to shake off the impulse to spread a pair of wings he no longer possessed, he stumbled further into the forest, following a small but well-trodden track towards his coven's camp.

Not long after, a dozen or more pairs of eyes followed the tall scout as he picked his way between the tents. They all knew where Hakirii went every dawn and were poised to grill him on the latest titbits he might have gleaned. But to the surprise of all, instead of drifting over to the food tent as he had done every other morning, he ignored the hunger that clawed at his belly and made his way upwards towards a semi-circle of wooden caravans.

Older than the rest of the semi-permanent structures by well over a hundred years, they remained held together only by decades of magic imbued unto the wood. In the largest, the sages gathered. The highest order of witches within their coven, the six men advised their leader in all things.

Privately, Hakirii doubted any of them had ever ventured far enough beyond the camp offer much worldly wisdom, but he climbed the wooden steps cautiously, careful to show them as much respect as possible, regardless of his personal opinions. His focus was on the seventh man in the room, Raven, the leader of their coven.

A dark figure amidst a riot of colourful robes, Raven’s attention was focused on his namesake perched on a railing nearby. He didn't turn to look at the new arrival, but Hakirii could feel the weight of his awareness pressing him into the floor.

"It's done then?" His voice could cut glass.

Hakirii kept his head bowed respectfully low, ignoring the piercing glares of the sages. "Yes, Raven."

"You're sure?" The figure turned, and Hakirii felt dark eyes linger upon him.

He risked raising his head. "Completely. I listened in on a conversation between the girl and her weapons master. He made the choice last night."

Raven's lips curled upwards. "Of course, he did. He's as predictable as his grandfather." He fed the bird a thin strip of meat. It croaked and glared at Hakirii with piercing eyes. “Yes, I know,” Raven murmured, offering the bird a second strip. “The scout brings fortuitous news.”

"Raven, if I may?" Hakirii coughed uncomfortably. "She didn't seem too keen on the match. She hasn't accepted his choice yet."

Quicker than he thought possible, Raven stood in front of him, and Hakirii found himself engulfed in a cloud of spices. "Show me," his master demanded, placing one hand across the scout's eyes, the other over his ear.

Void of any control, Hakirii suddenly found himself reliving all the events of the morning on fast forward, scene after scene flashing past until Raven located the conversation he was looking for. The weapon master’s lesson seemed to amuse him, and he lingered over his demonstration with a keen interest; an interest that quickened when he held Evie back to question her: What with the announcement last night and all, I thought you'd have other things on your mind?

Kirrin's guarded enquiry was all the confirmation Raven seemed to need, and Hakirii felt a wave of satisfaction wash through him.

"Ah, Cain, you sly old dog." Raven chuckled, the sound rattling around Hakirii's mind like rusty bells trying to chime. "Still trying to break your curse."

Cain. The current Alpha for almost fifty years, poised to hand the mantle of power to his grandson. Despite Raven's apparent amusement, Hakirii could feel a malevolent hatred curl about the uttered name as though it were possible to squeeze the life out of the creature it belonged to.

Wrapped up in the spell, the helpless scout felt Raven’s intensity increase as he focused closer on the girl. A quickening of his breath, a heavier thump to his heart. The heady scent of spices growing stronger.

Hakirii couldn't help the cold shaft of fear he felt on the girl's behalf. No one ever withstood this much interest from their leader and lived. Raven felt it, of course, but seemed to let it slide, his attention caught by the girl’s obvious reluctance to accept the match: I just... I don't know if I'm... suited to be a Luna.

“Well, well,” Raven murmured. “She's more wilful than I thought.” Hakirii felt a touch of admiration behind his words, swiftly smothered by a growing irritation. “That won't do at all.”

Abruptly, the powerful witch released him from the spell. Taking a step backwards, Hakirii blinked rapidly in the sudden light, the lingering aroma of spices clouding his senses.

“You've done well, Hakirii,” Raven murmured, returning to his impatient familiar. “Now go, rest. You still have much to do.” He fed the bird another strip of raw flesh, a trickle of blood working its way down his wrist.

“What now?” the oldest Sage asked as Hakirii edged towards the door.

Raven turned, his eyes once again grazing the retreating scout. "Hakirii? Tell our warriors to prepare for the Shade. Let’s see what we can do to encourage her to make the right decision."

"The right decision?" a second Sage interjected, incredulity across his face. "Surely we don't want her to accept?"

"Of course.” The glance Raven sent in the man's direction was casual, almost emotionless. But still, its target shrank back in his seat like he'd been promised a swift death. “She's a direct descendent. No other wolf could strengthen their pack like she can."

"But... won't that give them an advantage over us?" The youngest Sage queried, the rustle of his pale blue robes betraying his nerves.

"For a time," the Raven confirmed, and his lips curled into a smile so sharp Hakirii wondered how it didn't slice through everyone in the room. "Right up until it doesn't."