The next morning there’s a whole damn procession outside ready to see us off.

Every wolf of Jagged-Tooth, young and old, wanna bump up against me or sniff my butt – and there’s no greater honor than to be huffed by a noble wolf, let me tell you.

They’ve gathered their supplies, said their goodbyes to Swiftrunner, and stand together as the orange flame of first dawn ascends over the Deshaan forest below.

“So, you are prepared,” Witherfang says.

I shrug as Swiftrunner comes to stand beside me. “As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

The scabbard and backpack fit me nicely, I gotta admit, and Witherfang beams an old toothy smile down at me before pawing Swiftrunner gently.

“Take care of the Lightborn, Brother,” he says. “We all know the sacrifice you make in leaving us. Know that, in whenever you feel alone, we shall be there to sing your name to the four winds of this world, and if you listen carefully enough, you shall be home once again.”

The young wolf bows low, casting a glance at Snappingjaw in the crowd. They share a look I don’t see before the Elder turns back to me.

“Remember that thing you seek, Raziel,” he says. “Freedom is not something bought, or something taken – it is something that must be fought for. We shall fight in our way as you shall fight in yours. Together, we shall see the sun rise over the darkness that grips Arwyll.”

“If I had your skill in making pretty speeches,” I reply. “Then we could beat the Darkseed tomorrow.”

I shake his paw and accept an honorable nose-nuzzle of respect. Me! A basic boi Corgi being recognized by a wolf clan! It still boggles my little mind.

But hey, big changes are coming, eh? And for the first time in my life, I think I’m actually excited for what the future brings.

Swiftrunner and I wave goodbye to his clan before turning to the rising sun of morning.

“Are you ready, Little-Brother?” he asks.

With a puff of my chest, and a wag of my tail, I tell him the truth:

“Am I ready to find an ancient hidden fortress, fight off legions of evil plant-monsters and then slay their maniacal mommy? Nah, not even close.”

I sigh as I take my first step from the den of Clan Jagged-tooth into the unknown of the world below.

“But this cute little Loafblade's gonna make his mark on this world,” I say, much to Swiftrunner’s surprise. “And you will, too.”

----------------------------------------

Thorn watches the pitiful creature flail about, oaken limbs splintered and broken, as it relates how it crawled to his command post with nothing but the promise of the Lady’s grace to guide it.

He listens, absent-mindedly, tapping his gauntleted fingers on the armrest of his carved throne that had once belonged to the other miserable creatures that dwelled in the Lady’s forest – those sickeningly pure, prancing elves.

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Since the creature had come before them, all he could really think about was how its form had come to be devastated so. It confirmed a truth not even he had been willing to admit:

The dog can kill us…

His gauntleted hand flies reflexively to the steel locket hanging just above his oaken heart. Then his attention flares up as the Seeded Goblin mentions the dog.

“A – dread – demon – hound!” he cries. “Teeth – like spears! – blade – sharp – burning – BURNING – commanding – fires – of – damnatation – damnation! Damn –“

He lifts a single finger to silence the thing.

“Where?”

The creature looks around at the other servants – taller than he is, and far better equipped. They stare back at him, their angular ears twitching as they anticipate the order to end his miserable life.

“With – the – wolves!” he wails. “The – mountains! – the –“

A raised finger silences him again.

“The wolves of Clan Jagged-Tooth. Noble creatures. Misguided, certainly, but no doubt proud to call the Lightborn one of their own.”

A shrill, maniacal voice giggles beside him.

“Sounds almost like you respect those impure little beasties, Thorn.”

He looks at the interrupting creature with tired eyes, tracing her lithe, thin form – ever changing, ever mutable. She was an elf that barely could be considered one of her kind – her ears drawn back and folded into the blooming purple flower that framed her head, its crimson stem pulsing as she anticipated killing the pathetic goblin that was disabled before them. The rest of her body was blessed with the gifts direct contact with Lady Gyko brought: her hands elongated, ending in two emerald scythes that her opponents knew could slice through steel, and her wriggling talons looked more like maggots wrapped in clods of dirt-caked grass.

The hole in her heart where the Lady had planted her seed was glowing with her proud, green life – the one thing that was sustaining its host.

Thorn looks long and hard at the grinning she-plant, and his eyes shift unconsciously to her raised scythes.

“One’s enemy must be regarded for their weaknesses and their strengths, Seneca,” he replies. “Any warrior worth their salt knows this.”

“Is that why you watch on the sidelines, dear Thorn, instead of mucking in with your troops?”

His sharp tone cuts right through her playful giggles.

“I would urge caution, assassin,” he says, spitting her title with such disdain that it instantly wipes the smile from her face. “Know that Lady Gyko watches us all, and that you are here to prove where exactly your loyalties lie.”

“My loyalty is to our Lady,” she spits back.

“And I serve as her commander,” Thorn replies. “You would do well to keep this fact in mind.”

He turns his attention back to the little beast when no reply from her pained face is forthcoming.

“How many of them are up there?”

“M-many – many!” the Seeded goblin wails. “But they be – be – leav – ing. They travel. They go. They try – escape!”

“Mmn,” Thorn muses, touching his locket again.

“Let us strike at them now, General!” Seneca wails in his ear, her bloodlust instantly rejuvenated. “We shall kill two irritating little birds with one stone.”

“No,” he replies. “The wolves know they must find a new home. They think to outrun the Lady’s growing strength. Let them go.”

He could tell this apparent mercy irritated Seneca beyond reason. Her scythes were practically twitching with the desire to kill.

Good, he thinks. Stay frustrated. Stay hungry. That’s what we need from you.

“General?” she asks.

“It’s a distraction,” he replies with a knowing smile, tapping his fingers on his ancient throne. “A diversion so we won’t see the dog leave – probably in the opposite direction. They think to make us hunt them. But they are not where Lady Gyko’s eyes are focused.”

He rises above the whole congregation, feeling the very roots of the forest all around them vibrate at his final commandment.

“Seneca,” he says. “Your skills in subterfuge and death-dealing are beyond question. You remain one of the Lady’s finest instruments of murder.”

The dumbstruck, bloody maiden bows her head.

“Follow the hound. But I warn you: do not end his life.”

She blinks. “But – but the Lady - “

“Make him suffer,” he continues. “Strike at him from the shadows on his path. Strike swiftly, and repeatedly. Wound him from the darkness that our Lady sweeps across this new world. Sow the seeds of fear in his canine heart. Surely that is not above your talents?”

Her poisoned tongue flecks out to lick at her oozing lips.

“It shall be as you say, General Thorn.”

“The dog’s head will be ours, in time,” he says as he begins to depart. “After it leads us to the fortress of our enemies.”

And then, he thinks as he crushes the still wailing goblin under his booted heel. We really shall kill two birds with one stone.