[TT] Every neighborhood in your city has a resident monster that prowls at night.

...

Above the city of stone and faith, a full moon rose high among the clouds, deep hued white among the strands of silver and grey. Beneath the glow of stone and distance, shadows lurked with clear edges: statues and pillars of stone cutting from chalky to deep black on edges and carvings of masters through the ages. So it was that the Palace was still.

The seasons had shifted though, no longer held to the cold and frozen nature of the early thaw that came beyond the year's winter. Wind did sweep with gentle touches here and there, among the ferns of the emerging gardens, along the wall-top of grim-faced men with weapons at hand, and along the flags of houses billowing out with silent cracks in the night. Careful air flowed, patient eyes watched, and the moon shown in full force, but despite all of these things, no one could see the wolf.

Since first coming to this place, the wolf had grown. Larger, faster, stronger, with time had come experience. It was not always so, that the wolf could so easily set its paws into the grass and roam free. It was not always so, that the wolf could roam at all- trapped instead on two legs, beneath watching eyes. But on this night, in this place, the wolf ran.

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Silent as a knife in the dark, swift as an arrow in the sky, invisible as the night's own wind, the wolf slipped along. Past the gates, up and along the wall, over the battlements, towards the rooftops below. Paws on shingles of ceramic, air of streets and slums alike mingling together, breath not yet reaching its limits: The wolf ran.

For there was a trail to follow this evening.

A mission, should the wolf only remember. Cling to the instructions that held far-off toward the back of its mind. When the orb of white above was lifted so high, memories like that were difficult, but those great teeth had set themselves into its marrow, and still they clung.

Follow the trail. Said the voice which lingered. We must follow the trail, the scent, the purpose. Find them... find them.

Leaping from the rooftops, the ground of stone and cobble rushed to meet legs of strength, wide paws and golden eyes a streak across the night with the taste of prey all about. Humans, animals, magic, filth: There were all these things and more, but among them there was something familiar. Something to be chased, followed, and found.

Down the alleyways, the wolf ran. Leaping boxes, crates, scattered mice and drunken men. The laughter of women, the cackles of men, candles upon windows, wax and cinder, wood and iron. On and on the wolf hunted down on the order held in its mind, eyes and nose seeking their way through the darkness until it came to stop.

Before its golden gaze, a door rested. Bolted shut, with walls of stone to either side, nothing stirred about its barred windows or crumbling stoop. Ears turned, waiting still, the wolf listened and waited. Seeking out the final proof that might end the night's hunt, just as it had ended those before.

Murmurs of words, and voices of fear mixed with the unmistakable scents of guilt.

The Wolf howled.