🍂 Scarborough Pack Lore Thread 🍂

Content Warning - Though not the central theme of the narrative, sections of Scarborough Pack's lore may involve scenes involving violence, death, and dying. Reader discretion is advised.

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🍂 Prologue 🍂
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🍂 The Long Fall 🍂

It was when her orientation completely failed her that Amaranth knew she was dying. She had lost too much blood, and now up was down and left was right. She could scarcely make sense of where forest ended and sky began, much less clamber back to her shaking feet and push on. Her lifeblood ran along the edges of autumn leaves below her, and its warmth crept up into her mane. She creened, and tried desperately again to rise. She had to, she had to put distance between herself and the pack she'd once called home. Behind her, the fires in the Stag’s Crown dens burned. 

Her legs gave out again. The scent of charred fur and burning leaves clung to her, invaded her lungs, pushed out any thoughts besides a need to flee. She could still hear the barking of Hemlock's wolves in her ears, she could still feel the death grip that Mandrake had gotten on her shoulder. She and Mandrake used to play in the stream together. If that flaming branch hadn't collapsed on the two of them, she'd already be dead.

As though she hadn't limped here, at the end of a trail of blood, and begun doing exactly that.

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Scarborough Pack Lore Thread
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This thread is for lore surrounding and relating to the wolves in Scarborough Pack! After running into multiple problems with simply using wolf bios for small snippets, I've decided to move my stories and characters over to a personal lore thread. Expect bits of what are essentially flash fiction surrounding important moments in the lives of the wolves in the pack, how they came to enter, what drives them, and how their relationships to each other evolve over time!

For an index of stories, see the top of the next post. If you want to read posts in chronological order, a link to the next part of the pack's history may be found at the bottom of each post. The thread may not be in chronological order, but the index and link trail should be. I may also include wolf bios, but will try to stagger wolf introduction so as not to overwhelm readers. :)

Scarborough's lore ties into the lore of other packs, belonging to other players on Wolvden - we've spitballed ideas and created storylines that I am happy to share with everyone!

Of particular note will be Pack Harrowing (run by SyntheticHumor🍁) and the Pack of Fallen Leaves (run by Slant), whose wolves get housed in Scarborough Pack within its first year of existence, and around whose sons (Riko in the case of Pack Harrowing, Wild Animal Howling in the case of the Pack of Fallen Leaves) a number of plot points come up.

With that said, for all that are interested, I hope you enjoy, and hope to be providing regular updates for my pack of strange, strange wolves. <3

And now, the ending part of the prologue.

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🍂 A Life for a Life 🍂
Pack Leader Amaranth, Fall Year 0

Amaranth had made a point of never hunting weasel, lest she accidentally end him. She’d lied to packmates to cover up his presence, and misdirected at least two hunts when they were too close to her particular friend. A black-tipped tail and a little scar behind his right ear, smelling of the arnica that grew near his den - Amaranth always knew him when she saw him, and the weasel seemed to know her the same. Through the spring and the summer growing up, she’d stolen away again and again to play with the young critter, and the two had developed something of a peculiar trust.

That he would show up as she bled out on the leaves, however, was unexpected. On seeing him - his little silhouette popping up from behind a rock as it always did - Amaranth couldn't help but give a bitter laugh. The pain took hold of it, and quickly transformed the sounds from her mouth into a series of mournful howls. "At least I still have one friend," she whispered, watching the silhouette of the small forest creature. "You should go. This land is not safe anymore. I cannot protect you."

The least weasel skittered closer. The small creature stood to examine the monolith of a creature that was Amaranth, a creature hundreds of times his body weight, whose breath ruffled his fur as she lay dying. Her eyes focused weakly on the least weasel as it stood before its predator and raised a tiny little paw. Soon, the weasel rested his paw against the dying wolf’s forehead, for which she gave a grateful creen and closed her eyes. It was a small comfort to not be dying alone.

Slowly, a sense of peace came over Amaranth. She breathed deep, feeling the tiny little paw on her forehead. "Thank you," she whispered, grateful to not be finding her way into the realm of dead alone. She laid there for a moment as her consciousness swam. Slowly, she faded to inky black dreams.

🍂 New Beginnings 🍂

When she awoke, Amaranth was a changed woman. There was a wolf looming over her, wet nose pressing into her cheek. It didn’t bother Amaranth that she didn’t know the wolf’s face, nor name - indeed, if anything, she was driven by a burning curiosity. Pushing to her feet and finding them up to the task, Amaranth tilted her head, considering the woman before her. Black-furred and amber-eyed. A strangely calming aura about her. Amaranth didn't know how, but she knew she was safe in this wolf's presence.

Remembering her last moments, Amaranth checked herself. She was in the same patch of dried leaves. Dry blood caked one side of her neck, but inexplicably, her wounds were healed. She could suppose that this strange wolf had treated her, but... no, it didn't feel like that was right. Amaranth was brimming with vital energy... and a dim memory of a promise, made on the other side. She stared in thought, a slight gust of wind ruffling her crusted fur, only to jump back to reality when the strange wolf began to speak.

"Hey there!" the stranger said. "Don't be alarmed - I'm here to help! Are you doing okay?"

"I'm Amaranth," Amaranth replied. "Former-" she paused, catching her footing, realizing she was still a bit weak, then with a bitter smile, she said, "... former heir to the Stag's Crown Pack. There's..." she paused a moment to draw a deep breath. "There's been a rather unexpected change in leadership. And I fear I'm not long for this world when they find out that I'm alive."

The black wolf's ears folded down. "That's terrible news, Amaranth! I heard about the nasty business there. I'm sorry to hear that - but don't worry. We'll get you out of these woods alive." She perked up, glancing left and right for hostile wolves. “I know a pass out east through the mountains. Stag’s Crown will have a difficult time following you from there, and with your leadership experience, I’m sure you could establish a capable pack there in no time!”

"Oh, but where are my manners-" the black wolf added, as she turned, and gestured for Amaranth to follow with a smile. "I'm Tala."

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[[ Table of Contents & Next Segment: wolvden.com ]]

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🍂 Table of Contents 🍂
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This thread is structured non-linearly. Below is the intended read order; however, I will make an effort to include at the end of each post a link to the next in sequence (including at the end of this one). Some entries are side-content and intended to flesh out characters who currently don't play as strong a role in the narrative; these will be marked with a letter after their part.

Prologue
1. Opening Stinger & Amaranth's Origins
2. Who is Scarborough Pack? (Scroll to bottom of this post)
3. Major Characters for the Prologue
4. Founding Scarborough Pack (The Next Generation)
4a. Early Packmember snippets (New Blood for the New Pack)
5. Meeting with Pack Harrowing (That Strange New Pack)
6. New Blood for the New Pack

Chapter One - The Berry Siblings
7. Major Characters for Chapter One
8. The Plague-Colony

🍂 Who Is Scarborough Pack? 🍂

Late in the evening, the wolves of Scarborough Pack can be seen dancing and leaping against the vibrant horizon. Their wolfsong wakes half the forest, and it's said that if one looks very carefully, one may see in their movements the inspiration from the war dance of their patron spirit, Weasel. Their hunts are loud and flashy; their personalities, in broad strokes, are warm, excitable, and passionate. Whether Weasel's gifts of energy and vigor make them too much to handle, or delightful and forthcoming friends - either way, they care not. They dance on in their patron's footsteps.

They are married into the line of the heroic Miriko Skyborn by way of Pack Harrowing's son, Riko, and have become allies of - or perhaps puppets of - the accomplished Pack Harrowing as a result (Pack Harrowing played by SyntheticHumor). They've formed an alliance with the Pack of Fallen Leaves based on their mutual faith and reverence of the spirits, and have taken in one of their sons, Wild Animal Howling, as a show of good faith (Pack of Fallen Leaves played by Slant). For everyone else, the pack was founded on new blood - a motley crew of strays and rescues which has come together to form something of a group identity.

Scarborough is a pack of spirituality and passion. They're a marriage of old reverence with new sensibilities. They're healers, they're diplomats, productive hunters, they're a pack of found families and new lineages.

This is their story.

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Prologue Part 3 - Next: Prologue - Wolf Bios

Index: https://www.wolvden.com/chatter/topic/406333#406334

Prologue, Part 4

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The Founding of Scarborough Pack
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Snippets from the earliest days of the pack's formation
Features: Amaranth, Basil

🍂 New Horizons 🍂
Introducing Basil, Spring Year 1

The she-wolf moved with a confidence in the spirits that Basil had rarely seen. Amaranth had been hesitant to speak of her past - let sleeping dogs lie, was all she had said, and that she was moving to get away from something, somewhere far across the mountains, and that she followed in the footsteps of a personal patron in the ways of the Old Magic. She worshiped the spirit of Weasel, leaving gifts of eggs for his children to find and dancing and howling to the setting sun. She wanted to found a pack following a patron spirit, as was the old custom.

The idea wasn't unheard of to Basil. In his home pack, the practice had been relegated to the secret cultures of the old herbalists, but he had heard of it nonetheless. It was from Old Grandma Winterdown that as a young pup he picked up the stories of the old faiths - and of the packs and individual wolves who followed Crow, Raccoon, Badger, and for one foolhardy wolf, Coyote. These packs served the spirits, and the spirits served them in turn, honoring bargains older than words and promises as old as blood. The idea had filled him with fascination and wonder, and when his path to find a new home brought him across Amaranth's, he knew it had been meant to be.

Amaranth's vision of moving the old worship of the spirits forward into the more modern sensibilities of the new age packs, and he soon found his paws following her across the mountains. He bonded with her quite readily, eagerly exchanging stories of their childhood - at least what of it the young she-wolf was willing to tell him. Though not a particularly nosy wolf, his curiosity for this strange woman burned bright, and over time he was able to piece together a few facts about Amaranth's old pack. They had worshiped Stag. She wasn't particularly taken with the pack leader's ways of running things, but the spirituality had always spoken to her. Basil, calm of voice and gentle of demeanor, yet also unwavering, told Amaranth how his grandmother had honored Dragonfly, how meaningful her connection to the spirit world had been for her, and how it had filled his world with a sense of wonder. He was grateful when Amaranth proposed that he be the first member of her new pack - and even expressed an interest in having pups. He, of course, was happy to accept.

🍂 The Next Generation 🍂
Basil & Amaranth, Spring Year 1

"I think I felt one of them kick."

Basil lifted his paw from Amaranth's belly and nosed her warmly. Amaranth felt the life stirring within her, and couldn't help but chuckle, lowering her head down to her next. Deep in the temperate forest, a thumping sound could be heard, and she could see how Basil's head turned to the sound. A male grouse must be drumming. She closed her eyes and smiled, resting her weary legs in the bed of jay feathers and grass.

"Grouse thumping is your call, oh Huntmaster," she teased him. Basil gave an amused chuff and glanced to the pile of grouses already assembled by the den. He chuckled good-heartedly. "That new girl you found has been a tremendous help."

"Thistledown?" Amaranth asked, her eyes closing. Normally, a nested wolf would stay well-rested. There was no rest for packleaders, and it was times like this that the she-wolf was grateful for Weasel's blessing of vitality and energy. But even one who worshiped the inventor of the war dance must tire eventually, and Amaranth found herself wondering how the other female packleaders did it. She was exhausted.

"Is Goldenrod back yet?" Basil asked, to which Amaranth simply shook her head. "She's... a peculiar one," Amaranth simply replied. "It's a gamble when or if we'll see her today."

"Oh..." Amaranth yawned, and her ears splayed. "So I've discovered another pack. Not a feral one, quite an accomplished one. I bumped into one of their scouts today, and... they're just to the south of us. In the prairie." She pauses, rubbing her snout with a padded paw. "We might have set up a little closer to their territory than is comfortable. They want us to meet them."

Basil nodded slowly. "Dangerous?"

"Hard to say." She exhaled deeply and stretched out. "But it's best we start off on the right paw. We have better ways of managing territory in this day and age, and if I'm honest, if the scout was correct about who they were..."

"Name?"

"Harrowing."

"Well... whatever happens," Basil said, and smiled, nosing her. "I'll be right at your side, right?"

Amaranth smiled, and flopped onto her side. "Right," she agreed. "We've got each other, and we've got our patron."

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Prologue, Part 5 - Next: That Strange New Pack (Encounter with Pack Harrowing; Introducing Riko)
Prologue, Part 4a - Side-Content: New Blood for the New Pack (Introducing Thistledown and Goldenrod)

Index: https://www.wolvden.com/chatter/topic/406333#406334

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New Blood for the New Pack
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Snippets describing the introduction of some of the pack's earliest members. Many of these would later become the backbone of Scarborough Pack.

🍂 Respect 🍂
Thistledown, Finisher for the Red Fangs

"How many times do I have to tell you no?!"

The words came muffled, for the huntress Thistledown's teeth were already in Cacaphony's neck. Again, she threw the insistent male to the ground and snorted her frustration. Four years she'd been a huntress for this forsaken pack, four years she'd put life and limb on the line and brought the prey down, again and again. Yet for all the mouths she'd fed and all the valiant service she'd done for the well of the pack, these rock-brained idiots never learned to take a hint. The disrespect burned in her throat, it choked at her soul, and for the third time this week her fur was bristling again.

"You useless sack of filth!" She released the male, who scampered back with an amused laugh. He almost seemed to enjoy her reprimands. "Get over your rut and help feed your kin!"

It was also the third time she'd had this conversation this week. She'd tried approaching the leadership. She'd tried speaking with the other hunters. Useless, useless, some of them made comments that didn't bear repeating.

No matter. She only had to put on the illusion that everything was normal for one more night anyways.

That night, Thistledown was going to slip away.

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"I'll admit, a female Pack Leader would be a big plus," she said, her lip curling up a bit in thought. "But do you have what it takes? You're soft, Amaranth. You speak of diplomacy and a union of new blood. You want me as a finisher? Because you can tell me that no true wolf lives without a pack, but I'm telling you right now that living alone is better than what I had to put up with there. Show me that you and your so-called leadership council will spit fire."

Every word was true. The pack instinct, the desire to not live alone - it was in her, but after a certain point her dignity had become more important.

The strange brown wolf - possessed by an uncanny and curious gaze, vibrant and energetic like any wolf a quarter of Thistledown's age would be - nodded her understanding. "We don't establish our rankings by brute force here in Scarborough," she explained, tilting her chin up. "But if you are asking if I will sit by while someone makes a misery of my packmate's life? No. Absolutely not."

Amaranth's eyes met Thistledown's. "If you wish to be shown that I can and will  fight for my pack, then by all means-" a grin crossed her face. Youthful, but also surprisingly manic. For a moment, Thistledown wondered if this Weasel business might be more than old faith. "- challenge me," Amaranth snarled. "But then understand that strength is not a right to rule, but a means to provide for the pack."

"You're damn right it is!" agrees Thistledown, assuming a combat stance. "Four years, Amaranth. FOUR YEARS I served the pack in fang and claw! Not even my own kin would stand up for me- now show me that you're someone who will." Her own grin turns wicked. "Come at me, Pack Leader! Show me what you're made of!"


🍂 Wanderlust 🍂
Goldenrod, Wandering Stray

"You'll catch your death like that."

The voice was soothing, male. The restless woman sat up; her fur golden like dried prairie grass, her markings sharp. Her bones were visible through her fur, so gaunt was she, and the scarce trace of small game bones lay scattered at her feet. "You're not another one of those ferals, are ya? You guys know I barely get enough to eat myself!" She snorted. "No, you're not... mangy enough to be that." She lowers her head. "You enforcing your territory? No need to fight, I'll move."

"... mostly I was wondering why there were no less than five scent trails leading back here, and only one with a trace of blood." Basil's green eyes lingered on Goldenrod. "... mouse blood. This isn't the first day the hunt has gone poorly, is it?"

Goldenrod's brows fretted, and she glanced to the side. She didn't say anything.

"We're founding a pack just east of here..."

"Yep. You and the pregnant mother. I saw Tala with you, but she went on her way."

"You know her?" Basil sat down on his haunches. Goldenrod wasn't sure if he was consciously aware that his silhouette was blocking the entrance to the den, but the gaunt wolf simply shrugged. If it was a threat, she was beyond caring in her condition. "Who doesn't?" she replied. "I don't know how that girl gets a wink of sleep." A dry smile. "You know, a pair of Mexican wolves down south told me they seen her laugh at the moon with burning blue eyes. Some say her child is haunted to walk the realms, and she helps the strays so that they don't get lost too. Some say she's a ghooooost-" Goldenrod laughs and rolls onto her back. "Me? I just think she wants to be loved, yanno? I think she's like me. She cares a good deal what other people think... only she's actually good at shit." She paws at the air a few times weakly. "Unlike meee~"

She expected the figure to scoff in disgust and leave, but instead, he approached her gently, resting a paw on her shoulder and looking down. "... if you don't get some real food soon, you're done for," he said. "Please, I wouldn't see a wolf suffering. Feel free to join us for a while."

"Your pack?" she glanced up at him distrustfully. "I don't think you know who I am, captain hunterpelt. I don't like to be pinned down."

"You don't have to be," Basil said. "I simply wouldn't see you starve, prairie wolf."

"The hell you get out of that arrangement?" she asked, head craned back. "Not a lot of people here believe in no strings attached."

"... if it would make it feel more fair to you, perhaps you could tell us about these lands," said Basil with a soft smile. "Both Amaranth and I are out of our depth here. You, if I am not mistaken, have been all over it."

"From the desert to the pines," Goldenrod said, and closed her eyes with a smile. "... alright, young man. You feed me, and I'll tell you all about these woods. But then that's it. One day. I'm a lass with wandering feet, ya hear?"

Basil smiled. "Of course," he said, though he could already tell. This would quickly become a thing.

Wild Animal Howling

"We pay homage to Volukross much differently in the old pack," Wild says distantly, observing the cacophony of song and dance. "I believe in the Old Magic too, though... the sight has always failed me -” a note of pain enters his voice. “But Weasel.” His eyes waver, and his brow furrows uncertainly. “I don't know how I feel about Weasel yet."



He was of the Pack of Fallen Leaves now, though, and they took him in as one of their own. He learned to walk soundlessly through the mountains. He learned to break up his silhouette against rocks while traversing the crest of a ridge, and how to funnel prey down winding paths of the mountain and into the finisher's waiting jaws. He'd learned to be wary of outside packs, treading lightly and keeping a tight lip until they’d proven reliable allies. As far as the Pack seemed to be concerned, he was one of them.

    Yet Wild always found himself on the fringes of pack life. He yearned for home, and had difficulty connecting with these strange wolves with their strange rituals. Good teachers, yes,but they spoke with a reverence that he’d not found himself born into. Things seemed to be turning up after he’d bonded with another adolescent, a young male named Fang that is Loose, and they’d even become close friends. Yet as Fang developed, he began to speak of a world that Wild could not see - for Fang was growing into his own as a Seer. While many of the other wolves took the presence of their Volukross patron on faith, Fang saw her clearly with a spiritualist’s eyes, and spoke of her as though of a friend, or mentor. The deeper his friend dove into the world of spirits, the further the gap between him and Wild Animal Howling grew.

    Wild Animal Howling had tried to understand where his friend was going, and what these strange wolves saw in their invisible and intangible patron. He tried, some days with somber reverence, some days with pleading tears in his eyes, to perhaps see what his good friend saw. If he strained his ears hard enough, if he did the right motions, perhaps he too could see what Fang saw, hear what his friend heard, and this wouldn’t be a wedge between them. Some days he attempted this in silence. Others, with tears in his eyes, pleading any spirits that might listen - and yet Volukross never answered his calls. Wild was faced with only silence. Silence, and this damnable distance between them. He was alien to even his best friend now. He was a stranger to this pack.

    
This is why it didn’t come as a surprise to him when it was his turn to be chosen to move on from the pack. This was understood; the pack was growing, and could only excute their duties to their pups responsibly if they kept their size managable. It was a time-honored tradition to let one’s self be housed in another pack for the good of both packs, and he’d seen several sent before him. Better housed than chased, after all. That he would one day be called on to spread the pack’s wisdom to their allies was not new, or unheard of, even if the thought of being shuffled to yet another home made his heart sink. What was unusual was the nature of Fallen Leaves’ new allies.

Scarborough Pack was caught up in the fiery passions of Weasel. The wolves of Scarborough Pack were loud and energetic: dancing in reverence to their patron, rising early to meet the day, recklessly unsubtle in their socializations and play. Their hunts were raucous, mobile races that looked more like the canine interpretation of a weasel’s war dance than the coordinated efforts of a hunting team, and they relied on disorientation as much as actually steering their quarry’s path. The fellow practitioners of spirit worship, which they referred to occasionally as the Old Magic, had pixie fire burning in their veins and a seemingly boundless supply of energy. A pack in total contrast to the teachings of the Pack of Fallen Leaves’ patron.

    Volukross, by way of those who could hear her, preached subtlety and lightness of paw. She had taught the pack to value the cover of darkness, and how one moves unseen through the underbrush. She’d instilled in them the Wanderlust, the desire to feel paws treading on cold earth and the yearning to explore the long stretches of space between the horizon and home. It was no wonder that the Pack of Fallen Leaves was home to scouts of such legendary prowess. The Scout’s blue gaze burned inside their souls, and they revered and answered her.

    Yet it was how each of their patrons had affected them that ultimately bound them. For though each pack was different, each pack was equally reverent, and each of them understood the value in deep respect for the world of spirits, and of healthy relations between the packs of the mortal world and the beings that lay beyond it. Scarborough’s boistrousness may have been alien to the pack, but the passion with which they spoke of Weasel wasn’t.

    Except to Wild Animal Howling. His relationship to their Volukross patron was strained - the silence, the struggle to understand the worlds to which Fang kept coming back, time and time again - and now he was being pawned off (rehoused, he had to remind himself) on yet another strange pack with yet another strange patron. He was an outsider there, he would be an outsider in the new place. Only one thing remained true to Wild on the night he first met with the Scarborough wolves and was guided back to their territory.

    The flood really had taken everything from him.

Prologue, Part 3 - Major Characters for the Prologue

Packleader Amaranth

Daughter of the tyrant Nightshade of the Stag's Crown pack, she was endeared neither to her father's loyalists nor the people who swept in to replace him when the coup occurred. She's marched her own way across the mountains and into the woods, and kept a tight lip about the affair ever since.

Basil

A spiritual wolf who puts his duty to his pack above his own needs. His reasons for leaving his home pack are much more benign than Amaranth's; they were simply overcrowded. He sought a reverent pack where he could pay homage to the spirits, and he found Amaranth, who believed in them just as strongly.



Riko

One of the sons of heroic wolf Miriko Skyborn, Riko's entry into Scarborough Pack was part of an arrangement between them and the capable Pack Harrowing. He was offered to the young-and-growing Scarborough Pack, who in turn swore allegiance with Pack Harrowing. Now with the possibility of kids on the way, the ties between the two packs are growing stronger than ever...

Minor Characters for the Prologue

Thistledown

A veteran huntress who left her old pack after they refused to do anything about an overly insistent male. She left three years of proud service as a huntress behind her, and struck it out on her own. Amaranth was able to prove herself to the older woman and she joined up with Scarborough as their premier finisher.

Goldenrod

A stray prairie wolf who was happy like that. Basil happened upon her during a hunt. Without the support of a pack, she was ailing and hungry, but her paws kept bidding her move. Patiently, he managed to coax her to becoming a scout for the pack.

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Prologue, Part 4 - Next: The Founding of Scarborough Pack

Index: https://www.wolvden.com/chatter/topic/406333#406334

Prologue, Part 5

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That Strange New Pack
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🍂🍂 Just A Stray 🍂🍂
(Rough Draft - WIP)

Introducing Riko, Son of Pack Harrowing

While Amaranth and Basil come to make introductions at Pack Harrowing's behest, the soon-to-be emissary Riko has a conversation with his half-brother, the pack leader Wrenzer.

    “Just a stray starting a new pack?” Wrenzer snorted in amusement. He glanced to his half-brother, who felt the weight of the gaze behind that playful expression. Wrenzer never wore his true feelings openly. Always smile, he had told Riko, and they’ll never be able to tell what you’re thinking. Wrenzer gestured with his head towards the two strangers. “I’m curious if you see what I do. What’s the first thing the scout should have noticed, Riko?”

    The white-furred wolf sat up straighter. The two of them wore a patchwork of black spots among the white, though his much older half-brother wore a very distinctive agouti marking that framed his eyes in a black mask. Riko, named for his mother Miriko, turned his icy blue eyes to the two unsuspecting guests at the other end of the clearing. “Western packs, both of them,” he said, exactingly. “The one with the blaze I’m not sure about, but the pattern of brown and cream on the leader? Stag’s Crown, probably of regal bloodline.”

    “You took to your genealogy well,” his older half-brother praised him. Riko felt his tail wag slightly. How couldn’t he? He was a son of Miriko. There was a wealth of history in the great families of the fertile lands, and Riko prided himself on learning them all. In just a year of life, he could already name no fewer than 52 major bloodlines with their most distinguishing characteristics, as well as a great host of less common ones, descending from all corners of the known world.

    Wrenzer smiled - probably sincerely - at Riko’s expression of pride, before turning back to nod in the direction of the strangers, keeping his voice low. “Our dear stray is of Jael’s line, perhaps a daughter of Nightshade himself.” Then with a tight-lipped smile, he hummed to himself, scuffing the grass a few times like he did when he couldn’t contain his energy. “I wonder if something has happened to dear old Nightshade~”

    Riko recoiled inwardly. If she was Nightshade’s kin, he'd need to be on his guard. Nightshade was wicked - cruel, power-hoarding, unmerciful, much like Jael before him. The she-wolf came from the blood of despots, and Riko made a mental note to handle her with suitable caution. He rose to his feet - much calmer outwardly in demeanor than his pack leader - and gave a nod. “And you want to give them the usual treatment? Give them the blessing to settle, offer them one of our wolves, get in on the founding and slowly bring them under our sway?”

    Wrenzer grinned up at him. “Broooother,” he teased. “You make it sound so nefarious.” The twinkle in his eye said Riko was right on the money. “We just enjoy fostering good relations is all. Though if she’s part of Jael’s line... hrm.” He bats his ear thoughtfully. “Either they’re a foothold for Stag’s Crown in the east, which is bad, or she’s a runaway royal, which is also bad. I’m going to need someone capable to keep a close eye on this little baited trap.”

    “Who did you have in mind?” Riko asked, glancing back to him.

    At that, Wrenzer’s smile turned more mischievous, and he glanced over to Riko, eyes sparkling. “I think I have just the wolf in mind...”

Major Characters for Chapter One

(Section is WIP)

Holly Berry

The most thoughtful of the three Berry siblings, she's grown up in a hard-living Tundra pack beset by plague. The adopted wolves never knew their birth parents, but Holly has insisted that they at least had each other. When she was struck ill, it seemed that their fate was one found all too often in nature - to live an existence that is nasty, brutish, and short. With the pack herbalist strained under the weight of the epidemic and the severity of the disease, Holly's fate seemed all but sealed...


Hawthorn Berry

A selfless young wolf, Hawthorn Berry looks out for his ailing pack with the persistence of a saint. Even amidst the sadness of a plague sweeping the pack, he works strenuously to take care of a pregnant wolf who, having fallen sick, is attempting to survive for both her and her future pups. When his own beloved sister falls sick with the disease, his heart seizes, and he knows if he does nothing, she's a goner. Little does he know how tumultuous things are going to become...


Juniper Berry

A clever and strong young wolf, Juniper Berry has made it her mission to chronicle the traditions of the old hunting teams before their memories and songs are lost to the ravages of disease and time. The old hunters are going dead, and the new teams are being struck ill before they ever get to their feet. Still, she puts on a brave face for her brother and sister, and tells them stories about how good things are going to be once the plague times are over - whether or not she believes it herself.


Thyme

A mysterious and simple wolf, Thyme shows up to Scarborough Pack right when he is needed most, and with the help of the pack, starts off with one of the most trying cases of his professional career.

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🍂 Chapter One - The Froschlands 🍂
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(WIP)

🍂 Prologue 🍂


    "I'm fine!" Holly Berry pushed her brother away by the shoulder. He was a bleeding heart of a wolf, an incredibly loving young man, yet he treated every sniffle and sneeze as the onset of the plague. "We should gather fresh nesting material for Papaver."

    The suggestion wasn't only to deflect Hawthorn's attention to her sniffles - it also came from a well-intentioned place. There were not enough paws to keep the den mothers comfortable, not with the plague. Hawthorn had made it his personal responsibility to look after the pregnant mother, whose wheezing only reminded Holly of the dreadful progression of this disease. "She at least needs to live to see her pups," Hawthorn had insisted in desperation one night as the three siblings were hunkered down in the back corner of the den. "Perhaps if we keep her well, the healer will get those herbs just in time...!"

    It was a desperate thought. Even if one of the Froschland's scouts came back with a mouthful of guaiacum, the plague had reached so deeply into the tundra pack that it had cut their capacity to care for themselves. The hunters had fallen sick, and their apprentices were shaky on their feet, unreliable, and in many cases, also coming down with the fever that had struck others. Without food, the wolves starved, and the weakness only made it easier for the disease to penetrate into their bones. Surely if help came, their leader would get the hunting teams and scouts on their feet to feed the pack, no matter who else suffered.

   However, she knew better than to correct his optimism - it was so seldom to see him on the bright side of things. He saw all the world as a problem and a source of danger, and it was his job to fix it, to make the world livable for others. If the belief that it was possible to save her drove him to put paws to the ground and help an ailing wolf, so much the better. These thoughts on the edge of her mind, Holly Berry simply squared her shoulders and smiled at him. "See? I'm fine."

    "We should," Hawthorn agreed, nodding to Holly. "But I'm not letting this topic with your sneezing go! You know that's the first symptom of-"

    "I don't have the fever, jeez!"

    Hawthorn hesitated, his eyes piercing straight into Holly's. "I hope not. I don't want to lose my sister, Holly."
 
    His words resonated in her heart, and with a resigned sigh, Holly Berry closed her eyes. The darkness danced like the strange blues she'd seen in her dreams. "I'll... I'll keep an eye on it, brother."

-- Reserved! --