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here is a young adult novel I am working on, please enjoy or die.

Pt 1
There Are No Gods in the Old Lands

Ermarion was the elder alpha of the winding river tribe, lord sovereign of the eastern hills, and chieftain of the twelve wolf tribes; known in all the wolf lands as Sawtooth, the great grey one. His vixen were the finest of their breed, and he had produced already in his seventh year six young pups, Dekard, Ersion, Obelis, Varmir, Carrow, and Fervan, all now grown and given their own lands and armies. He was a fierce ruler and a shrewd general, he had commanded a legion of warriors from the northlands hill tribe in many territorial wars against the bears and the grizzly lord Grax Giroux, and of all the eastern wolves he remained the most feared. 

In his eighth year, Ermarion sired a pup named Olion with his favorite vixen Corrianna, but when the tiny pup was born, his paw was broken and hung limp as his side. The parents were heartbroken for it was the fate of pups born disfigured to be cast out from the pack and left to fend for themselves in the wilderness. These pups were known as limppaws, for they would never be able to run and jump and hunt like the others, their existence a blot on all of wolfkind. To think the chieftain suffered the bearing of a limppaw! The others would say, perhaps Ermarion is not as strong as we all feared! And with that it was decided, the other clans would never know the fate that had befallen the wolf king, and little Olion would be left by the banks of Big river to walk through this world alone. 

On a cold morning, Ermarion left the wolf camp with his trusted general Verlix and, wrapped in a warm shall, the pinky pup Olion, only a day old and still wet with blood from his mothers womb. Ermarion and Verlix traveled south, to the lands of Obelis, to where the winding river meets the Big river and there on the eastern shore, under a driving rain, they left the little limppaw.

Ermarion had then stood over the little pup, his son, his boy, and raised a single razor claw into the sky. He paused and the rains shimmered upon his silken grey coat as he stood ready to strike, ready to wipe away the stain on his reputation, his son, his little limppaw Olion. 

"whats wrong?" Verlix was standing beside him. 

"I cannot do it Verlix," said the wolf king with a shudder, "I cannot kill him"

"my lord, if any of the others were to find out..." Verlix started. 

"I know, my rule would crumble, but Verlix, you have little ones of your own, could you bring yourself to slay Aelf? Could you slay you own child?" Verlix was silent in the face of the wolf kings rage. Ermarion stared down at the wriggling shawl, "he will live, even if it destroys me, this little limppaw will live." Verlix had not the verve to question his king, and merely nodded his head. 

"then we will take him back?" he said after a brief moment. 

"no," Ermarion lifted his head, "we cannot do that either, for it will mean his death. The others will uphold the law and he will be executed. The best he can hope for his over there," Ermarion gestured to a plume of firesmoke rising in the distance to the east.

"men?!" Verlix yelped "you'd have him live as one of their dogs?"

"is better than to die a pup then?" Ermarion was tensing, "than to live?"

"to live as a slave." Verlix said, "and to one day become one of them; a man." But Ermarion had made up his mind, he picked up the shawl and the crying pup in his jaws and turned to his old friend, whom had seen him through many battles and tribulations, and bore his menacing teeth. Verlix smiled. 

"If I did not abandon you at the claws of Grax Giroux, then what could make me leave your side now my liege?" he said and they were off, bounding through the woodlands toward the end of the wolf lands and the beginning to the world of the man. 

The winding river tribes lands ran from the open plains of the dark-skinned Buffalo Men in the west, wolves that walked on two legs like the men in the east, but wore the feathers of Flying Ones and the skins of mighty Buffalo, to the Great Seas of the north hills, where the border between the bears and wolves had been decided after the first winter war, and down to the barrier, where beyond lay the men with light skin, who carried guns that could slay a great warrior from a mile away and who loved to burn the forests and dry up the rivers and build their stone walls and mighty fortresses. No creature, no wolf, no bear, no lion dared to cross the barrier into the land of men, for those who did were made slaves to their humiliating "circus'" or simply slain on the spot. No wolf that is save for Ermarion and Verlix, but under the cover of darkness still. When they reached the edge of Greatwood, and the open hills of the eastern plain, Verlix paused and looked back to the land they had just left. 

"you can turn back anytime" said Ermarion through his clenched teeth. 

"I've never been this far, that's all, we're actually doing this?" he was laughing, "we're actually going to cross the barrier?"

"this will not be my first time," Ermarion said "I have crossed twice before" 

"I should have guessed," Verlix said with a bit of sarcasm, "you're the wolf king after all, but why go a second time?"

"that's enough Verlix, we are near our destination" and with that they both fell silent and hastened their paws. 

About a mile into the lands of men, Verlix noticed that same plume of smoke pouring from a wooded area up ahead of them. For a moment he looked at Ermarion, who rushed before him with a grace befitting the alpha of all wolfkind. His coat was tattered with the many scars of a warrior, the tale of many battles won and lost and the wounds suffered for the course of survival and dominance. In all their years together Verlix had never seen the king like this, in such a calm and restrained manner when facing such a terrible circumstance, belying the deep and churning rage that was surely building inside. He almost seemed unsure, nervous, like he feared they may not ever return to the tribe. Like they were in real and imminent danger. 

After a few more minutes they had reached a small clearing where in the middle stood a humble farmhouse, the source of the plume of smoke. They wrinkled their noses at the smell. 

"why must the men burn everything?" Verlix snarled, "have they no decency?"

"the smoke dulls our senses," replied Ermarion, "it keeps us away from their precious animal servants"

"as if we would stoop so low as to slay a lowly chicken? Or a fat old pig?"

"these are indeed dark times," the wolf king muttered, "many of our kind must now scavenge for our dinner if we choose to remain on the lands of our ancestors."

Ermarion approached the little shanty with Verlix close behind, and laying the bundle before the threshold of the cottage door, he took one last look at his lame born son, who writhed under the patter of fresh spring rain, before turning, and dashing away into the forest. 

The wolf babe cried and cried through the night, as a torrent washed down upon him, but as morning came round, the heavy storm blew away to the east, and the world became very quiet. Only the cries of the pup broke the silence for Eiirk Lowengrad, the owner of the cottage, who rocketed out of bed, pistol in hand. When he opened the door, and saw the wriggling bundle before him, he stopped and lowered the pistol; the shawl bore the mark of the Wolf King, his old friend Ermarion. 

"and I wonder what this could mean," he thought aloud, and turning over the cover revealing the pup he shook his head, "so the king had another lame born. Well, you can't stay out here forever little one, best get you inside before the crows smell you," and he picked up the bundle and carried it inside. 

Eiirk nursed the little pup, whom he called Tuck, for the next few days, keeping a constant vigil until he began to show signs of recovery. All the while his thoughts drifted back to the wolf king, and their other meetings, when the great grey one, still only a pup himself, had brought Eiirk the first of his mistakes. His first born son, heir to the wolf tribes extensive lands, by the name of Ervaxion, was born with a certain disposition towards ripping out the throats of his playmates, most notably Ermarion's second child, his daughter Barrix. Ermarion was forced by the law of his tribe to take Ervaxion to the river, for he was a rouge and had no place in the pack. Crushed with the pain of loosing his child, and forced by the tribe with the task of murdering his only other, Ermarion broke down by the river. He cried over his first born son, who lay ready to become a sacrifice at his paw, and found he had not the audacity to complete the act. Ermarion was too kind.

He had seen a plume of smoke rising in the east, and had followed the pungent reek to Eiirk's little cabin. It was the first time Ermarion had seen a light skin man, and for Eiirk his first wolf. Immediately startled, he moved for his rifle and pointed it square at the wolfs head. 

"get back ye deamon beast" he shouted, but Ermarion stood fast. Eiirk sensed something amiss about the creatures behavior, Ermarion did not make any moves, nor did he growl or bear fang. Behind him, leaping among the trees in pursuit of a moth, was a wild looking black wolf cub. 

It wasn't as if they could communicate, Eiirk did not speak the language of the wolves and the wolf king certainly spoke no English or Sweede, but Eiirk felt overcome with emotion none the less. It was as if the great grey beast before him was begging, imploring him to take the pup and raise it as his own. He lowered his rifle and the grey wolf bowed. Eiirk strode forward cautiously, and when the beast made no move, he gently patted his head. 

"you're asking me to be taking this here pup then?" Eiirk laughed, "you're a good boy aintcha? Alright, I'm aguessing hes your boy too then? That's what I thought, the others wanna tear him up eh?" he scratched his head, turned and spit, then laughed heartily. 

"you're boy will be safe here with me, I'll give him a good home doncha worry. I aint doing this outta love either, i dont even like dogs, but I got a feeling about you, you're not the usual bloodlusted beast, there's something almost regal about ya, so I'll take your boy in. Now you get back to your kind afore someone sees you and wants both our heads."

That had been four summers before, and only a year later, Ervaxion was a massive wolf, clearly his fathers son. It was in that second year the problems began to happen. The wolf had grown too big for Eiirk to handle, and he kept a pistol on him at all times, waiting for the moment when the big wolf would attack. But for another year that time never came. Then on a warm fall afternoon Eiirk was mulling about the edge of his property when he saw the big wolf stalking him. He turned on his heel and produced the pistol, pointing at the wolf who only stared back at him. 

"what the hell do you want?" he was stammering "why are you following me?" the wolf, obviously, said nothing it only stared a him with some amazement. Eiirk fired, but only at the ground before his feet, and the wolf charged him teeth bared. He managed to get off another shot, which just barely clipped the wolfs side, and sent him reeling into the base of an oak tree. Eiirk sprinted towards the cabin and his rifle, but as he got closer, he got the distinct impression the beast had not given chase. He followed a trickle of blood to a ridge a mile west of the cabin, near the old barrier and there he caught the last glimpse of the black wolf dissapear into the distance. That was the last time he would ever see Ervaxion. 

The next summer Ermarion came to his clearing and Eiirk told him the sad tale. The wolf king had looked at him with such understanding eyes, Eiirk nearly believed he could really speak to the beast, or at th very least the wolf knew what had happened to his offspring. What Ermarion could not tell him was that he did understand what the light skin man told him, but what Eiirk did not know was a tribal hunting party of which Ermarion was a member had come across the crow stripped carcass of a brother wolf only a week before in the westfold. It was then that Ermarion knew the fate of Ervaxion and that night he wept for his first born son. 

The next year went by without the appearance of the wolf king, and by the next spring Tuck was near full grown. He had gone from a pink and screaming pup to a young wolf, his teeth and claws now sharp and deadly, he stood taller than Eiirk, now in his mid fifties, and could have easily slain him. Though he was born wolf, Tuck had been raised by a man, and he loved Eiirk as his father. He even knew he wasn't his father, Eiirk had told him. At night they would sit by a roaring fire and Eiirk would drink his magic drink that made him act funny and smoke on a little wooden stick, and tell Tuck the tale of his real father, the wolf king Ermarion. He told Tuck how his father was the chieftain of the twelve tribes, and how he was the heir to wolf lands and royal blood, and how his father had been forced by the law of their people to kill Tuck when he was a newbabe. But his fathers love saved the little princes life, and he brought him to Eiirk, the only man Ermarion had ever known, to save him from the fangs of his brother wolves. 

"what happened to my father?" Tuck wanted to ask, "what happened to the wolves?" but the words were not Eiirk's to answer. He stared inquiring at his adopted father, who simply puffed on his smelly wooden stick. After a long silence he spoke again. 

"don't know rightly what happened to him, you father. He hasn't returned since the day I first met you. Suppose he may come back for you somehow, even though you're a lame born. Though...when he came for the black one..." he stared into the fire and said no more. 

Tuck heard much about the black one but Eiirk never said more than to casually mention him before trailing off and becoming silent and rigid. One time Tuck thought he heard Eiirk mutter something about the black one "still being out there" but other than the occasional passing mention, he gathered no more information from Eiirk's ramblings. 

In the years after he and Verlix had left Olion with the men, Ermarion often found himself dwelling on the limppaw, but he dared not return to the cottage. It had not taken long for the lands of men to expand and annex his own, and now it was quite common for a wolf to be found murdered even on the safe side of the barrier. Even to travel only to the outskirts of the lands of men was a danger Ermarion dared not risk, for the mans guns had only gotten more precise and more powerful whereas his teeth and claws were beginning to feel the effects of age. And there was the tribe, the other leaders, six of which his own sons, had become very suspicious upon the wolf kings arrival from his task those years before. Carrow, his fifth son and chief of the Swampfang Tribe was the most distrusting, citing the lack of bloodsmell on the wolf kings paw. But Ermarion had put him down, violently, leaving the prince with a reminder of his tribal dominance, slicing his left eye in half with a claw leaving him with half his vision and the taunting nickname Scareye, which Carrow seemed to take too quite well, though you would be hard pressed to find a beast alive who had used it in his presence and lived to tell. That day Ermarion lost the loyalty of the Swampfang and a third son. No war broke out, but the damage had been done, soon other tribes began to slip from the old kings grasp, Big Tooth and the Plains tribe, the Western Highlands tribe, and even his sixth son Fervan and the Dark Forest Fang no longer paid tribute to the great grey wolf. This schism would only widen as that summer progressed, with tribes inter-fighting and splitting into smaller packs and gangs until, by the winters first snows, the twelve tribes had splintered into more than twenty five, all rouge and paying homage to no masters. Many had gone north, to the Free Timberwolves to do battle with the bears, and still others had gone far west in search of the lost wolf tribes of the great mountain range or south to the lands of the Buffalo men. Ermarion had lost his kingdom, and all over the birth of a little limppaw. 

It was that winter that brought that second winter war, and Ermarion was lucky to escape from that battlefield alive and with all his limbs intact. It was a horrible bloody war, the bears of the Ber Gumont tribe violated the treaty of the first war and a young vixen had been savaged by their warriors, and the remaining loyal tribes went to the mountains to avenge and reclaim the lands deserved of them. But war is not that simple, and by the end of it, the war had been won but at the cost of a hundred good wolves. Ermarion could not erase the memory of standing over the carnage of the final battle in it's aftermath, trying to count the carcasses of wolves and bears strewn about in a bloody mess. He could not erase the memory of loosing Aelf, Verlix's only son among seven vixens, to the jaws of the grizzly chief. The spring that year was very quiet indeed. 

The next summer passed in peace, but it was only a calm before the storm was to come. Though four of his sons still remained loyal, Fervan had not been heard from since the split, and Carrow, old Scareye, had declared himself king of the westfold. Civil war was brewing, a pack could not have two kings, and Ermarion knew he needed to make an example of Scareye if he was to retain the respect of his subjects. But the old king was conflicted, the thought of killing Carrow filled him with a great sadness yet the blatant impudence and insult of his actions could not go unnoticed. 

The eldest of Ermarion's brood, Dekard, implored his father to take up arms against Carrow. But Ermarion wavered. 

"my son, is Carrow not misunderstood?"

"no my lord," Dekard was a proud wolf and most loyal of the brothers, "he is evil and will bring rue to our tribes. He would even align with men to exact his revenge upon you for taking his eye, we must put a stop to him before we loose more tribes to his "kingship." I myself will kill him father, and regain the honor of our pack."

"you do not understand Dekard," the grey wolf spoke slowly, "it is my fault your brother is the wolf he is. It is my failure as a father that causes Carrow such sorrow. I agree that he has gone too far, he has personally insulted me and my pack and my rule as wolf king. I will not stand for it. It is my battle to fight Dekard, I must take your brothers life for I am responsible for how it has been twisted. And that is what causes me such sorrow my son, I must be the one to kill Carrow and no one else."

Tuck was nearly at full growth when Ermarion and his brothers were preparing for war, but lived oblivious to it. In a whole year he had gathered absolutely nothing as far as information about the black one, and neither Ermarion or Verlix or anywolf had shown themselves in the little clearing. Tuck was beginning to doubt the aging Eiirk, perhaps it all had been a fanciful story the old man had told to amuse himself. To think! Tuck, a wolf? No he was just a dog. 

Carrow had made his kingdom in the center of the western swamps, with his general Szildor the red, his vixen Nerix, and the other free wolves of the western wolf lands. Never had he forgotten the scarring he recieved from his father, and his wild Scareye burned with hate and revenge. It would bleed and puss and fume with the vengeance of Carrow, and he would take both his fathers eyes indeed! Ha! Then there will be one and only wolf king, the mighty Carrow, the great wolf. 

He remembered that day like it was only a fortnight. The day when Szildor and he had been patrolling the eastern forest and Avair, a small and weasley wolf who was part of Carrow's entourage, came before them with news of the bearing of a new brother, Olion. 

"Olion? What a terrible name, that bitch Corrianna must have come up with that one eh Carrow old boy?" said Szildor with a snicker. 

"truly not a name for a king, tell me Avair," said Carrow with an air of superiority, "where is this new brother of mine?"

Avair led them to the den where already a large group was mulling around talking excitedly though in hushed and whispering voices. As they got closer, they came upon Carrow's older brother Obelis, a skinny but muscular wolf with long dark fur and beady black eyes. 

"Obelis! So we have a brother then? Little Olion? Is a terrible name don't you think?" said Carrow nudging his brother playfully with his snout. 

"we also had two sisters, but they did not make it," Obelis replied, "such is the wolf queens curse," Carrow laughed. 

"so is the burden of carrying our fathers blood is it not dear brother?" 

"there is talk.." Obelis began. 

"there is always talk Obelis," Carrow cut him off, "but talk of what nature? Is our little Olion stillborn?"

"he is..." Obelis gestured to the pup, lying blind at his mothers side, and Carrow could now see quite clearly the limp arm at Olion's side. 

"a limppaw?!?" he burst out, "a disgrace to our clan!" Ermarion was quickily at his throat. 

"and what shall you do father?" he chuckled, "slay me? He is lame born, oh mighty wolf king, he must be dealt with in accordance to the law! He must be left at the river!" there was a victory in Carrow's voice. 

"silence you impudent fool," fire exploded in Ermarion's eyes, "or I shall slay you and the babe both on this very spot! I am wolf king, and you will obey my order!" his paw slammed down on Carrow's head, crunching as it collided with the earth. A yelp of shock went up, but was quickly silenced by the growl of the wolf king. 

"you will obey!" Ermarion thundered. Carrow resisted, but then rolled onto his stomach and signaled defeat. 

As Ermarion strode back toward his vixen and pup, Carrow called out to him. 

"he's still a lame born father," he jibed, "the law says he cannot stay in the pack!"

"I know Carrow," Ermarion's voice was steady and clear, "it is my duty. The act will be carried out at once," and he snatched up the newbabe from his crying mothers side, swaddled him in a bundle of cloth, and with Verlix close behind, they made for Big River. 

Carrow turned to Szildor. 

"follow them," he said quietly to his snarling underling, "make sure the deed is done."

When Szildor returned, he was panting heavy. After a drink of water, he blurted out, "theybroughthim, to the land of men!"

"what?" Carrow was furious. 

"they went down to the river," he said licking his chops, "but the didn't have it in him to kill the babe, so him and Verlix scampered off to the east! I followed to the barrier, and saw they were headed for a man settlement in the old kingdom." 

"a coward," Carrow sneered, "but this is joyous my drooling apprentice! It means the old wolf king is weakening, don't you see, he's grown compassionate in his age! Ha to think that old flea bag, after all he's done, couldn't slaughter a writhing babe?"

"then the time is ripe my lord," Szildor said, "Ermarion's rule is slipping each day. I have heard from the west that the plains tribe has declared itself independent from the clan, and the western mountain tribe is ready to pledge loyalty to your reign. Your younger brother Fervan today withdrew his warriors from court and returned to his domain, he also could prove to be an ally in the coming war."

"then the first moves have been made," Carrow said in a low whisper, "we have yet to trade any pawns, but the line has been drawn. If we are to crush the old flea bag, then the time to strike is now."

When Ermarion and Verlix returned, Carrow confronted them before the clan. 

"so you have returned father," he said with scorn, "and how clean you are! To think I cannot even smell the blood on your paws! Strange indeed father, was the act not to your liking? Is the law not yours to abide?"

"you are a fool," Verlix began, but the wolf king was upon Carrow before he could speak. He slashed wildly at his sons head, biting and punching until Carrow lay at his feet barely breathing. Ermarion stood proud over the fallen wolf and raises his mighty claw to the sky with a deafening howl. 

"let all know," Ermarion bellowed, "this is the penalty for challenging the wold king!" and be brought his claw down hard in an arc, slicing Carrow's eye in half with a splatter of puss and a gurgling yelp it was done. Carrow lay at the kings feet, now the humiliated Scareye. 

Now, only two tears removed from that fateful night, Carrow was king of the west, and ready now to take his fathers throne. 

"you will pay Ermarion," he thought, "you will pay dearly for my eye."

Eiirk had begun to worry about the size of the wolf child, and noticed that he was getting more and more suspicious glances from the other little settlements that had popped up around his. It was nearly time for Tuck to leave this mens world and strike out into the wild to find his own kind. The longer he stayed, the worse it would become, until someone cried wolf and a mob of angry townspeople would come marching up to his cabin and demand the beasts blood, but Eiirk was afraid even so that the limppaw could not make it in his own world. Wouldn't he find the others only to be scorned again, or worse? But that was the conundrum he faced; he could only see pain in the future for Tuck. He soon made up his mind however, knowing that the pup would be safer in his own world than in this one, and began to prepare the proper arrangements. Tuck knew how to hunt for himself, and his lame paw had grown much stronger, but he still had lived the life of a dog. Eiirk feared for him, and it delayed the departure. 

But then something happened that Eiirk could not foresee. A young girl from one of the neighboring towns was found in a gully with her throat ripped out and her stomach partially eaten; the work of a wolf. The angry townspeople blamed Tuck, and they wanted his head. Eiirk packed tuck a satchel with some food and the shawl with Ermarion's crest and tied it around Tuck's neck, patting him gently. 

"you've got to go now Tuck," he said calmly and he gingerly ran a hand through his fur, "I know you ain't done a thing wrong, but those people don't see it that way. They're gonna kill you if they catch ya boy," he motioned to the torchlit mob coming up the hill from the village, "this is no place for a wolf anymore, so git!"

Tuck ran to the edge of the clearing and looked back at the only home he'd ever known. A great feeling of sadness washed over him as he looked on the old man for the last time. 

"get out of here," Eiirk yelled, "didntcha hear me? Run!"

Tuck turned on a heel, and began sprinting into the woods. When he got to the edge, he paused and listened. From the clearing he could hear the townspeople demanding the wolf, and Eiirk telling them that Tuck had left weeks ago unexpectedly. 

"so I don't know where the hell he went," Eiirk was saying, then Tuck heard a muffled scream and a gunshot, followed by cheering. He couldn't tell what had happened, but he heard the voice of the old man no more. Shedding a few tears he turned and began to run toward the barrier. 

After an hour or so, Tuck had left the human lands far behind, and as he traipsed through this new and unknown land, he noticed a few crows circling above him, then darting back into the canopy above. They did this in a sort of dance, first they would appear and circle around above him, then for a long time they would disappear and he would be alone until, sure enough they would reappear. After the fourth or fifth time, Tuck noticed they were squaking at him from their arial perch, "Olion the limppaw! Olion the limppaw!"

"stupid crows," tuck muttered, "what disgusting creatures they are, like mangy wild dogs without a home to call their own. 

"I suppose I am a mangy wild dog then too," he said to no one, "for I am without a home." the gang of crows continued to weave in and out singing their queer little song. 

"Olion the limppaw, cast from the pack! Sent to live with men and he's never coming back, he must be the sorriest wolf I had ever saw! His teeth were not so sharp and no power to his paw!"

Tuck wondered who this poor wolf could have been, but when he stared down at his own tiny forepaw, he felt some disdain."I AM A LIMPPAW! I am a limppaw too!" he wanted to shout. 

Late one night, Ermarion stole away from the warmth of his den, and made his way down to river to a tint hutch in the bank. This was the den of Semoia, the mother of five of his children, Ervaxion, Barrix, Dekard, Ersion, and Carrow, Ermarion's first true love. They had grown apart after the birth of Carrow, when Ermarion chose to pick another vixen for his bitch, Semoia's young cousin Corrianna. Ermarion had reason for this, Semoia's womb had gone barren and the king needed to produce more offspring to strengthen the pack. It broke his heart, but Ermarion was forced to leave his vixen who had used up all her use to the tribe, and find another more suitable mate. Evidently Carrow had taken this supposed slight very badly, and for this reason did the wolf king cone before Semoia on that night. When she saw him, she laughed. 

"and what do we have here? The old king come down to see little old me? I'd thought you'd forgotten about me. About your mate." she was lying in a dark corner, but moved toward him and bowed, "and what do I owe the pleasure your majesty?"

"Semoia..." he began. 

"come to ask me about Carrow? About what he's got planned for you," she smirked, "you should know better than anyone else, after all, he is your son."

"he'll destroy the whole tribe Semoia," he said in a low voice, "Dekard believes he will go to the men and become one of their dogs! Is that what you want?"

"what I want?" she laughed, "what I want is my dignity! You left me here with nothing Ermarion, left me here to wither while you were saddled to that bitch!"

"I was sworn to never speak to you again, on pain of death," he spoke with a shudder, "my being here now is a great risk."

"do not taunt me with excuses," she got too close to him for his comfort, and he moved, "do you not still think me beautiful?"

"yes, you are beautiful, but your soul, your heart, has grown ugly," she scoffed. 

"and surely my king, you are to blame for that."

"that may be," he was beginning to head for the exit of the den, "perhaps it was not a good idea to come down here. I shall take my leave."

"run away again then Ermarion," she lay back down in her dark corner, "just leave me here to die with the rats, go back to your soiled Corrianna whose womb is still vibrant with life, go back and tend to your lame bearer."

"Semoia, I..." but there was nothing more to say. Ermarion gave her one last tearful glance, then walked back up the riverbank to his den. 

Tuck found the Winding River that afternoon, and his accompaniment singing crows had nearly doubled, all euphonically blurting out their discordant, jarring sing songs. 

"Ermarion the toothy! Lost his toothy tribe!"

Tuck ignored them as best he could, and walked along the river as the gloaming came down. It was then that he realized the growl in his stomach. He had not eaten since the morning of his departure and for the first time he was feeling the ravening of hunger, as pains shot through his body and he felt his strength deplete from deep inside. He needed to hunt, but even Eiirk had said it, Tuck wasn't very good at hunting. He had caught some rodents and maybe a rabbit or two, but he was craving something much bigger now, as his empty stomach churned. The pain was becoming unbearable.

He scouted around the river until dusk, but had no luck. Not even measly crow had flown down close enough for Tuck to snatch and they still circled in the distance cawing and singing with the affectation of a listless disdain. 

"Olion and Ermarion both a little lame!" he heard them sing, "fighting in the harrow, were sold by mighty Carrow!" then they broke into a fit of laughter. 

There seemed to an unplentiful life of game in the vicinage, but as he stalked further, he realized the crows behind him had gone silent and were perched as a collective upon a lone maple tree. For a moment there was silence, then a first crow dove headlong towards the obscured forest floor, before another and another, squalling and swalking in a feathery horde.

"they must have found something to eat!" Tuck thought with a pang of excitement then raced back to source of the frenzy. A fox lay dead at the centre of the swirling black vortex, but Tuck was not above eating a fox and he rushed forward sending the crow gang spiraling upwards with a terrified delirium. 

"big dog!" they cawed, "sharp teethy!" and they abandoned the carrion. Tuck ate the rest of the good meat, which tasted appalling, and felt quite full. He lay down under a shady tree and was beginning to doze when he felt a tiny wing forcefully tap him on the side. Jumping up he saw a big dirty crow with narrow accusing eyes staring straight at him. 

"you still me dinner, dumb dog!" the crow squawked, "you make Big Squawk not happy! Big Squawk want see you."

The Big Squawk was the leader of the gang, in other words the biggest, meanest, most foul smelling, and laziest crow of the murder, and he was very large for a bird of his condition. He wore on his brow a woven crown adorned with rabbit bones and twigs and topped with a single hawk feather, the apparent symbol of his rule, probably not taken from a hawk itself but scrounged off the forest floor. His beak was painted white and red. 

"this the tooth that eat the yums," the little crow who had brought Tuck said. 

"stupid doggie," the big squawk roared, "that the crow gangs food! You eat your own kill, leave rest for Squak! Now no yums for youngins! You bad tooth, you stray."

"am not you ugly little pecker!" Tuck spoke boldy, but his newfound voice cracked and several of the crows snickered. 

"am you not? Am you am!" the big squawk accused, pointing a single feather, "we make pact with tooth king, not a wolf eat the crow yums under crow sky! You break! You eat crow yums under crow sky like there is no pact! Violator!" 

"violator! Violator!" the gang mimicked. 

"I didn't know of the pact," Tuck blurted out, "I am new to these woods. I give you my sincerest graditudes and apologetics"

"you not know! You new woof?" the big squawk danced a little gig mocking him, "I don care! You take our yums you become our yums! Bring out the osprey!" a dull hush went over the gang. 

"but boss," the crow who had brought Tuck rushed to the Big squawks side, "remember what happen last time?" The big squawk smacked him on the side of the head. 

"shutup man brain!" he blustered, "bring the osprey!" the gang began to chant slowly. 

"the mighty osprey, the mighty osprey,"

A group of crows wheeled from behind a thicket a poorly constructed wooden cage, which was wheeled out to the crow chief who produced a small silver key from his beak. At this the group that had wheeled out the cage scattered. The Big Squawk turned to Tuck as he fumbled the key in a silver locket. 

"you in big trouble now," he said and unlocked the door, not long after which he too flew away to the safety of the trees. Tuck saw emerging from the box the biggest bird he had ever laid eyes on. It stood nearly as tall as him, and had mighty wings that it beat with fury as it hissed at the dog. Tuck beard his teeth, but the osprey only inched further. There was something very peculiar about this bird, something very odd in his behavior. Tuck snapped at the ospreys neck, but the giant bird aptly dodged, and landed a sharply placed beak in Tucks side, which sent him reeling. As he jumped back to his paws, he saw the osprey was upon him and had to take another shot in the leg just to avoid being caught in a corner. The birds eyes boiled red with hate. Tuck charged again, but again the osprey was ready for him. 

When Tuck felt the pain in his good paw, he didn't quite know what had happened. He felt a surge of heat in his leg and warm blood dripping through his toes, but had to dodge the birds beak once more, and jumping back to the edge of the clearing he looked down to see the horrible wound on his one good front paw. Tiny drops of liquid were spurting and then a gushing torrent, and the pain, the all encompassing pain, he swayed then caught the ospreys wing in the corner of his eye and dodged once more. His paw came down hard on a tree root, and he stumbled, crying out in pain. Every step he took was sheer agony, and as he lifted it in the air it hung with dead wait. He now had two limppaws. 

"he's got him now" he heard a crow squawk, and turned to see the osprey barreling at him with the force of a mustang. Tuck began to brace for impact, throwing himself headlong at the murading bird, claws swiping for his throat. They crashed into each other with a great thud, and a roar of appreciation from the spectating crows. Tuck fought with all his might and pinned the osprey down, going straight at it's throat with his razor jaws, but the birds beak caught him square in the cheek as he did, causing a jet of blood which splashed into his eyes as he felt his teeth sinking into flesh. He thought of nothing but clenching and held tight until the osprey struggled no more and lay silent upon the ground wet with blood. Tuck tried to steady himself then collapsed in a heap beside, his wounds aching and burning he wanted only to sleep. But the murder of crows were cawing and taking flight, screaming "he is dead! He is dead! The mighty osprey!"

With a violent crash the crows broke upon Tuck's back sending him smashing against the ground and bouncing like a rag doll to the side. He staggered to a stand, and with a second gang of crows racing towards him, Tuck leapt into the feathery blackness in a whirlwind of claws and teeth. Crows screamed and made last ditch evasions and Tuck gnashed after them, his only thoughts on survival and survival meant slaying as many of these godforsaken crows as he possibly could. He dashed at the fleeing crows with blind rage. His target was the Big Squawk, who was surrounded by his personal guard. They formed a barrier around the chieftain calling out "bad tooth! Bad tooth! You must obey the law of Carrow!"

Tuck paced before the crow circle snarling. He had never felt this way before, so streamlined and cool, but overflowing with a proud anger so potent he feared it would make him go mad. He wanted to slaughter these foul birds, rip out their throats and eat their smelly, scrawny guts. He wanted to slay them all. 

"your osprey has been slain," he barked, "your tribe has been decimated, and your pride has been lost. Begone from these lands filthy bird creatures, or I shall have the little that remain of you as my dinner."

"you are bad tooth! Bad tooth the croweater!" the crows cawed, "bad tooth crowkiller, hater of crows!"

"I am Tuck," he spit out a broken front tooth, "free wolf."

"bad tooth crowhater the free wolf!" they taunted, taking flight, "you will get our revenge! We get the wolf king! Then you be sorry!"

Tuck watched them disappear in the distance, then staggered once more before falling and passing out, his head bounced on the warm ground and he was asleep. 

From the trees a dark figure emerged, an old black wolf with long unkempt fur and murky white eyes, and after a few moments, made his way over to Tuck. 

"you are dying," the old wolf said, "if you do not wake up you will bleed to death. I wonder, who are you little wolf, and why have you come to my forest? These questions you will answer, that is if you make it through the night," and he chuckled, gathering some herbs and mud and mixing up a strange little paste which he proceeded to lick and rub on Tuck's wounds. 

"good," the old wolf said after a minute, "your bleeding stopped, at least for now, but you won't be walking right ever again." He nosed Tuck's wounded paw a moment, then his limppaw, "you have one bad one to begin with. Now that your lame paw has a twin, whose to say whether you will even walk again. What a shameful thing to be born lame, some are limppaws, some are rouges, some just stay blind. I will pray for you little one, for now that is all I can do more to help. You are in the hands of mother moon."

This wolf was Toviar, son of Ersion II, brother of Ermarion, blind uncle of Tuck. 

Carrow was strolling through his swampland when the furious cloud of crows descended. They were cawing incessantly, "bad tooth! Bad tooth!" and fluttering around in random chaos, until the Great Wolf raised his paw for quiet. 

"bad tooth?" he smiled menacingly, "why there is not a wolf among our tribe who is a bad tooth? So crow thing, why don't you elaborate?" a fat crow nearest Carrow blurted out. 

"little tooth take me dinner! Bad tooth!"

"where is the squawk?" Carrow ignored the ignorant gang members as they hopped around him chanting bad tooth crow-killer. The Big Squawk came forward, and bowed at Carrow's feet. 

"great woof, King Carrow," the Big Squawk said, "the bad tooth kilt our osprey, bite his neck in twain. Then he turn and to kill us. We fly here to Great Woof. You know how to punish Bad Tooth." Carrow was surprised that another wolf could have gone unnoticed in his kingdom, but the crows were not know as pertinent actors, and many of them smelt rich of warm, newly spilled wolfs blood. 

"who was it?" Carrow strode up until he was face to face with the Big Squawk, "surely it must have been one of the outerlying tribes. One of those fat flea bags still loyal to my bastard father?"

"no," the squawk answered, "this a wolf I never aseen afore. He say he Yuck, a free wolf."

"a free wolf?" Szildor mocked, "not in these lands!"

"that what he say," the big crow returned, "hey say, me Yuck, free wolf."

"never heard of Yuck before," Carrow said, "what about it Szildor, there's no Yuck the free wolf, hater of crows in these tribes if I remember correctly."

"there is no wolf by that name that I have yet come across, perhaps it was some mangy stray from the man lands," Szildor replied. 

"a stray. Yes that would be most acceptable," Carrow shooed the crow cheif away, "fat bird, begone from my presence, we shall deal with this free wolf in our own way. Go back to your lands and watch the barrier."

"but the treaty!" the big squawk cawed, "he is a violator!"

"are you questioning the will of Carrow," Szildor stepped forward snarling, "you dare to order the great wolf!" Szildor snapped and broke the crow chief in two with his frothing jaws. The gang scattered, their chieftain slain. The great wolf laughed, and patted his general with a paw. 

"that's quite good, a new wolf in our lands, what a load of garbage!" Carrow chuckled, "these damn animals just get dimmer and dimmer."

"must a been a dog," Szildor muttered to the dead crow at his feet, "you died over a mangy dog."

Tuck awoke with a start, the image of the charging osprey still fresh in his mind. He was quickly put back down by a massive black paw, which pushed him back to a sitting position. Tuck stared up at the white, pupilless eyes of the black wolf and sputtered, "where...where am I?"

"you are in my den in the border forest," the black wolf said, "I am Toviar the blind and it was I who pulled you from the crows. You have slept now for four days and nights, I do hope it was pleasant for you. Now the real work will begin."

Tuck tried to pull himself to a stand but felt a sharp stabbing pain in his paw which sent him reeling to the ground with a yelp. Toviar laughed. 

"you should take more care wolf dog," Toviar said, "you have two lame paws now." Tuck stared down at his forepaws, one shriveled and lame from birth, helplessly twisted to it's side like a gnarled root, the other a tinge of crusty red blood and the deep, black hole where the beak had plunged. What did he have left if he had been of no worth before? Two broken paws. Two broken paws and the mind of a beggars lapdog. What did Tuck have save misfortune?

"why did you help me," the great black wolf smiled a toothy grin, "of what use am I? Being a burden so?"

"I suppose it may have been instinct," Toviar's icy white eyes seemed to dance in the falling sunlight, shimmering like iron before a flame, "or perhaps I just can't stand to see those lowly crows make a mockery of these lands, which belong rightfully to the wolves. For a thousand years a son of the high king was warden of this forest, and those wolves fought men and bears and lions and died under the sky for this land. Those birds know no honor, they bow before the little king and offer him sweet nothings and the whispers of the wood. I suppose I am savoring for the days of long past, but I would not sit idle as they make our fathers lands a grounds for their rancid droppings."

"the little king?" Tuck said. 

"the one known as Carrow," Toviar went on, "I would call him a usurper. The crows say he killed the rightful king, his father, and made himself king of all wolves."

"Ermarion." Tuck remembered the stories of Eiirk, "he was the wolf king."

"and how you came to know that I would truly like to know myself," he nestled his snout to the ground and took a long sniff, "but I fear you must drink before I loose you too delirium. Now you must stand little one, the stream is just over this ridge."

Toviar led him to the water and Tuck dove in forgetting himself. The lush waters felt wonderful against his fur parched and baked by sun and dark with dirt. He gulped it in and let the cold rush down his throat, thanking whatever god watched over him so to send this blind savior. When he felt quite finished, he joined Toviar who sat on the beach his nose up to catch the scents in the air. 

"thank you for you kindness," Tuck bowed his head before the old wolf, "I would have died."

"you will," Toviar stared right past him when he spoke, and it was unnerving, but after a moment he laughed, "someday pup, not this day, but someday. If you want to keep yourself alive in these times, it would be smart to blunt that sharp tongue of yours. Those crows are filthy beats, but there is a law to these forests. He who sows the lands takes it's benefit. You took their game, and then showed grave disrespect to their king," he noted Tucks furrowing brow, "I heard from the edge of their clearing. I heard it all. You must show respect to the lord of the land."

"I have no love for crows!" Tuck said curtly, "they need respect me!"

"ha! And what for?" Toviar jested, "what big teeth you have? No, they are under protection of the wolf king, they fear none but he. Now they have surely brought your tidings to the steps of Carrow's wood, and though I do not think the usurper king would trouble himself with one little wolf, especially when others in his pack would see it as assisting the crows. More likely you see the head of Big Squawk hanging from a tree in The Great Swamp. But you must think of these things, if I am to assume you take Carrow as your enemy."

"I have never even seen this wolf," Tuck was taken aback, how could he have an enemy? After so little time in the wolf lands? "how could he be my enemy?"

"you spoke of Ermarion." he said flatly, "any wolf of Ermarion would be an enemy of Carrow. Remember it is said Carrow killed Emarion, he who was king."

"I only know stories" Tuck replied, "I am from the lands of men."

"ah but you are not one of their dogs, are you?" He motioned for Tuck to follow, leading him to a hallow tree, "I have collected some meat here, for emergencies, you may eat your fill." And he did. When he had finished, Toviar told him to rest. 

"I shall keep watch, when you wake, we will talk more of Ermarion."

Ten Years Earlier

Irax Thunderclaw was not a patient bear. He had been known to flay alive messengers who kept him waiting on his oak stump throne. He was Bear Chief, kharl and khan of the west, uniter of the northern kingdoms, lord of the eastern wetlands, protector of the southern timber forests, grand high sovereign of the western mountain, and not to be shown disrespect. This messenger from the western border had been late on arrival all morning, causing Irax Thunderclaw to sit on his moldy throne and wait. And wait. And wait. The members of his court were growing nervous, if the Chief had no one to split down the middle, he may turn to the nearest duke, and take retribution. Who would stand up to the mighty kharl of the bears? No bear but that psychopath Grax. Some families are cursed with such a sibling, he thought. Then again there was not quite a sibling like Grax. No, he was of a different breed all together. A cold blooded murderer and twenty stone in his first month of life. Not many could claim such a brother as the kharl. 

The messengers arrived after the lunchtime hunt, and Irax had the younger bear's throat slit as a reminder to the elder to be speedy. The bear was named Youax, son of Mornax of the east, a second cousin and he quivered before Irax Thunderclaw as he should. The message was grim. 

"the wolves are massing west of the sea in great numbers," as he spoke Youax kept his eye on the other bear's corpse, still lying where he had been slain, "and also to the west by the old keep, maybe a thousand or more in each camp. The eastern forces are being led by Issar of the Swamp Fang and his sons and Karmir of the Plains tribe. The wolf king leads the host in the west, and he is accompanied by Verlix Bladecatcher, Fenix Redwolf, and Elward Bearslayer. They met our forces led by General Sammax and the Lightningfang by the three rivers, and it was a rout. It is said they took the rivers all the way up to the canyon, the old keep, and Lord Sammax's head. The eastern forces are striding the far border, and your-" he thought better of referring to Grax as the kharls brother, "Grax Giroux has been roused from his mountain stronghold." I wondered when you might have shown yourself brother, Irax thought. It has been too long since we last stood upon the same lands, perhaps that time is soon at hand. Youax continued. 

"he was seen by our scouts two fortnights before, prowling on the edge of the dark woods, then again the night before I took my leave. He grows bolder my kharl, the bears of my tribe believe he intends to use the wolves, waiting for our war to become deep before he descends from the mountain and marches into our, YOUR lands."

"do not let Grax trouble you," the Chief was speaking to all gathered, "he is a cowardly madbear at heart, and though his size is that of a mountain, and his ferocity duly noted, he can not defeat this kharl, the one Irax Thunderclaw, who he could not defeat those years ago when I sent him to that barren mountain."

"of course my king," Youax said, "but it is troubling news none the less. He destroys our lands, and kills our wives and eats our children, he eats babes at the nipple! And not all of our warriors could stand against his might, he stands tall as the sky tree, and possesses the strength of a boulder. We fear him my king."

"that is good," Irax said with a smirk, "you should fear my brother. With that strength and girth is also a great insanity. I know of his crimes, but he is warden of those lands not mine. We shall deal with this, by the honor of my father which the brother has besmirched, I shall take the head of Grax Giroux and make a cloak of his fine skin. This, let all know, is the penalty for disobedience to the kharl." The warriors of the court shouted their approval, with many hail hails and long live the kings. The messenger was spared, he was a cousin, and sent back to his lands with forty warriors and the promise of the kharls whole western army. They would meet the wolves head on, push them back to their own lands, like in the first war when Irax was just a youngin, and then he would deal with Grax. His brother had held those eastern lands too long, though it had been a sacrifice at the time when Irax handed them over. They were so young then, but Grax still cast a shadow on the largest of bears and was full into his madness. They had lost their father and three brothers in the winter wolf war, older brothers who held the right to the throne before they did, now the line had passed. Though he was the younger, Grax wanted the throne for himself, and Irax would not have it before him. When he had come across his brother, they were in the eastern dark woods where so many bears had starved and frozen one winter past. Grax was leaned over his kill, a mother grizzly and he three cubs, a stream of red splashed on his stomach and crawling up to his jaws. "care to join me brother?" he had said, cracking a babes neck with his teeth, "they are so tender, there's nothing quite like it." Irax had challenged him, but Grax only laughed. 

"you are sick," Irax said. 

"to think you were born before me when you are so little my brother," he had said, "I am to be king." but the gods had favored Irax on that night, and though he lost many good bears in doing so, he drove Grax back to that lonely mountain. And that was where he would stay to brood over his lost kingdom and plot his revenge, but when the mad bear rose again, this time Irax Thunderclaw would send him to the afterlife. This time the bear chief would have no mercy for the brother he had loved once, for that love had been his downfall. Grax roamed the eastern mountain killing anything who dared trespass and everyone he pleased. He maimed wife bears, children, and great warriors alike. Was this the cost of love?

Irax took his dinner with the lords of his domain, begrudgingly for he loathed the company of their type. They yessed him, praised his noble way, curtsied to his entrance, and kissed at his feet, all the while plotting behind his back to meet their own need. They had grown fat off his feast, and thanked him not. Their elegance was phony, their compliments only empty words. Any one of them would gladly bow before another should he claim to be stronger. Irax kept his ebonite close. 

As dinner came to an end, and the lords took their leave, one bear, Allax of the Eye, a monsterous black bear wearing leaves of wolfsbane around his neck, stepped forward and bowed. "my liege, I bring news from the eye, grave tidings and misfortune," it was the second bit of bad news he had been given that day. 

"speak then," he gestured and Allax sat at his right. The eye was the tallest tree in the Oak wood to the east. From the canopy, you could see for miles in every direction, the rolling hills to the north and west, the flatlands to the east, and the three rivers to the south. The kharls ancestors had held the eye since time could remember, the vantage point from where they commanded their mighty host. No man nor beast could come near the stronghold of Oak Wood without the bears knowing. 

"the wolves are flanking our forces to the east and west," he said after a moment, "and they've won back three rivers, small wood, and formed a wall separating our two armies at Riverbank. Ermarion is said to be marching straight north now, and Issar is heading west. If we do not move our armies to meet them, then we will be surrounded; the wolf lords and the free wolves." Irax leaned back and sighed. 

"it seems war is upon us then," he looked over the black bear with his stern eye, "the wolves mean to push us to the brink, but they cannot take Oak wood. Ermarion knows that. His father tried before him, for six days and nights they waylaid the stronghold with their finest troops, and in the end he watched the old king die at the hands of our warriors, he knows the price to take this wood. More likely they want to draw us out into the open plains where their sheer numbers can overwhelm us, but I will not fall for that ruse. Does the wolf king think me an idiot? To rush out and meet him only to ensure my own defeat?"

"I believe he plans to let us make the next move," said Allax. 

"and if we are to wait," Irax went on, "then he will surely make another. Ermaion is no fool, he has laid a choice at my feet, to fight him man to man, or to wait in my keep until he is at the door step. All the while he takes my lands ands kills my warriors, my cousins and brothers, those sworn to protect me. Well, I am sworn to protect the realm. What am I to do when these wolves mock me so?"

"call upon Grax," Irax laughed so loudly it made Allax jump. 

"Grax? You must be joking," Grax was not to be bargained with, nor ordered, "there is no chance of that. He rules his own lands and cares little for ours. I think he would rather see us beaten by Ermarion, then he would be rid of one enemy and alone to roam into our lands. Grax seeks opportunity not brotherhood."

"but if the wolves were to cross his border," Allax continued, "then would he not join the battle?"

"perhaps, but on his own side. I see you mean to use him."

"he will sow seeds of violence in their host. If Grax were to enter the fray, it could certainly be a help to our cause." Irax understood what the young bear did not. Grax would spell doom from them all, if he were to fight. But then again, he may help to confuse the wolves, and if they were to cross his border, Grax would chase them to the far corners of the world. That was the opportunity Irax saw, the wolves were moving to flank, bur they had stuck themselves between the armies of the kharl and the mountain king. This was the only chance he would have to put an end to Ermarion and his pack once and for all, and then he could deal with his brother. If the cards were played right, Irax Thinderclaw would be lord sovereign of all the northlands. The thought amused him, brought him comfort; lord of all bears, defeated of Ermarion, bane of wolves, defeated of Grax, scourge of the mountain, grand high chieftain of all beasts. Soon, he thought, soon it will come to be. 

He sent Allax away and closed his court, retiring to the oak wood den where his children and wife bear slept peacefully. His eldest son, Draxl was nearly of age, ready to take the vow of a warrior and to begin his ascent to king of bears. He would make a good king. Irax Thunderclaw would make sure of it. 

"I hope you have prayed to your heathen gods," He spoke to the wind, "I am coming wolf king." 

Verlix was keeping watch when he spied, lumbering in the distance, the outline of a giant. Grax Giroux, he only mouthed the words and they still felt sour. Verlix had only heard the tales, told around the den when he was a pup. The Mad Bear they called him, who ate his own kin. He watched, and though the giant never strayed far from his mountain, he was too close for comfort. Grax entering the fray was a disturbing thought. He brought the news before Ermarion, who conferred with his top generals in withering wood. Among them his sons Fervan, Obelis, and Dekard, and the leader of the plains tribe Big Tooth. They parted and bid Verlix entrance to the circle. 

"my lord, the mad bear stirs in his mountain," Verlix said, "he becomes bolder with each moon, comes closer to the border. The bears we fought south of here have been fighting him for years now, the prisoners we took said Grax has been moving into the kharls land and making kills. I fear we have become stuck between two mad bears, the brothers both are mighty, and mighty bloodthirsty. If we were to split our force, one battalion to the west toward your brother Issar and the Oak Wood tribe, and the second to the east to Grax..." Ermarion cut him off. 

"they would not be enough to defeat Grax," he said calmly, "and it would compromise our host here at three rivers. Do not forget who our enemies are in this war, Irax not his mad brother. They still watch our movements from The Eye, and would see the split as a chance to cut our forces in twain. If we loose the land connection, we loose our communication capability. We would leave Issar to choose, march on Oak Wood or wait for the bears in the flatlands. The problem is that the bears in Oak Wood are well prepared for seige, and even half our host is not enough to break it."

"then what was the point of this war?" Verlix was loosing paitence with the old king, this had been their fifth night camped on the sliver of land they had won between the bear lands. Five nights without a wink of sleep, waiting eyes open for the bears to descend. But they never did, at least not yet. Verlix did not want to wait for that. "were the wolves we lost at three rivers for naught?"

Ermarion studied his best general for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then he spoke. 

"this war was for the wolf babes whose mothers were savaged by their warriors. Or have we forgotten that? I have not forgotten. You were all there at the scene, you saw their twisted faces frozen at the minute of slaughter."

"if so have we not then made our point?" a black wolf with pale blind eyes stepped forward. "what is the use in pushing in either direction? If they come, they will have to bring all the might of Oak Wood, leaving the keep undefended for Issar to sweep through. Then we will have Thunderclaw surrounded."

"surely brother," Ermarion said, "but what sacrifice must we make here to win against the might of the bear horde? And when our brother Issar takes the keep, what next? Likely he would proclaim the war won and himself lord of the bear lands. And he would not rush to help us should it prove my demise and his succession. I know Issar to well, as should you Toviar."

"you may think that," Tovair said, "but I have faith that it is our best course of action." Issar was a cunning wolf, but Toviar could not believe him to be unworthy of their trust. He was blood, a brother whose appetite for climbing the ranks was well known for sure, but blood none the less. And Issar had always been kind to the blind wolf, a feat none of the others, even Ermarion, could truly boast. "other than a hasty retreat that is. We are stuck my brother, my king. Stuck between two angry murderous bears who mean to make us scarce. What else can we do but trust Issar?"

"we can lure then into the flatlands," the king spoke firmly, "there we can use our speed against them. In the forest, they are much more deadly."

"but they must know that is our plan," Toviar was growing weary with his brothers wars. They went galavanting off to save the world and their precious pride, and dragged behind to clean up each mess as they made it. He cursed himself for his blindness and lack of regal ability. He would have ended this war months ago, if he would have even started it. It was folly, but they were blood. If he didn't hold their tails for them, they'd have lost them long ago. "they shall wait as we wait, and hope that the mad bear gets sick of our sights and comes calling. We don't have time to sit and wait for that to happen?"

"then what would you have me do," Ermarion grew impatient. 

"go home, this war is over, we have no chance of winning from here, and no chance if we move to Oak Wood. If you cannot trust Issar, then we are doomed to failure."

"I agree with the blind wolf," came voices from the circle. Ermarions lesser lords and vassals had been waiting for someone to be brave and say it; they were locked in a stalemate and the only option otherwise reeked of death. Ermarion knew it to be true, they would loose hundreds of wolves before it was done, and for what? Reputation? Pride? vengeance? Were the lives of a few vixens enough to pay such a price? Tovair would have said no, but he couldn't say the same for his brother. Either of his brothers, they were too wrapped up in those feelings, revenge; pride. Who had need of such things. Only kings and those who wish to be. 

"then we have lost the pride of our fathers and grandfathers," there, Ermarion had even used the word pride. He wouldn't let this go for all the world. He meant to see it through to the end. 

"my king," Verlix stepped forward, "your own wife is ripe with children. Don't you think your place is by her side?"

"you mean to call me a Vixen," the king stormed, "you mean to say my place is in the den now, not the field of battle?"

"of course not my liege I only meant..." Ermarion cut him off, he was furious with pride and would hear none of them. 

"I care not what you meant," he bellowed, "i am king, not the blind wolf!" you had to mention me, Toviar thought. "you have become fat cowards in this time of plenty. We march tomorrow." there was a glint in his eyes, it came out in his words and Toviar could feel it like a cold steel on his nose; of what Toviar could not sense, but the flame that shot from Ermarions words burned away all argument. The other lords drifted away to ramshackle dens to sleep and Ermarion sat fuming in his own. What folly has befallen us, Toviar thought as he lay and felt the scents of the air, the smell of battle and death surrounded them. There were not many days when the stench had not carried with them, and he had grown quite accustomed to it's lingering prescense. War is such an unseemly thing. And it would only get worse. The next few days, he could feel it in his bones, smell it on the air. The bears were waiting for them. 

He turned his snout to the west and, ever faintly, caught their scent. Warriors, many of them, stinking of perfume, sulfurous to dull the smell. But Toviar could still smell it. Scouts, he thought, theyre still watching us. Then he turned to the south, he could smell Issars host to the south west, and nothing to the south east save the smell of sea. To the north, barren nothingness, and to the west. Grax Giroux. Toviar could place him best, he had ne'er smelled such a strong odor as that of the mad bear. Blood and guts and death and decomposition, like a one ton crow. It unnerved him, so he turned away. 

I pray you know what you are doing brother, he thought as he lay down to sleep, for the hour of our judgement is near at hand. 

The raven Venniair sat upon his perch at the eye and kept watch. For all his summers he had sat their, since he was ready to fly, and kept vigil over the lands of his kharl. He had seen two great bear wars, three wolf wars, and four different Thunderclaws, Belax, Thornax, Dyrax, and Irax, reign over him. He was an old bird, but he still flew sure. 

The Eye was the gate to the kharls kingdom, a mighty red tree that towered out of a tiny grove and soared over the land, giving even the grounddwellers the sight of a bird. But Venniair was it's keeper, he and his brother ravens. They brought news of the outerlying kingdoms to Irax Thunderclaw himself, though in this time of war, he had also begun to send bears, so they could carry back supplies. But the ravens were the keepers, for sure. 

Allax had returned with dire news, the kharl was leading his host to the eye. He was making his move on the wolves. But why now? He had all the safety of his keep in Oak Wood, and the wolves would never break through there. The flatlands would not be kind to the bears; that was where the wolves hunted, that was their turf. 

"if his host marches, it means he leaves Oak Wood undefended against Issars force" Venniair said when Allax relayed the kharls message, "what is he thinking?"

"he means to take on Grax as well. It is folly, but the chief with not hear of it. He means to stain the land with blood, be it wolf or bear."

"a statement then," Venniair lept down and waddled to the bears side, "he sees a challenge set before him by Ermarion, and he means to meet it head on. We may very well see war at the eye again before too long. Irax Thunderclaw has spoken."

"these are dark omens my lord," the bears distrusted most flying ones, but the old raven and his flock were highborn lords of the tribe and were held in the highest regard. "I see no future for this war."

"there is a future Allax," he said, "and it is filled with blood. But we are sworn to the kharl and mean to carry out his word. Like I did his fathers before him," he thought about the others, they had all died in a time of dark omens. In a time of war. It was prudent now to be invisible to the bears, but the kharl was not known for his patience. He would no doubt be in sight by tomorrow, a vast horde growing larger with each tribeland it passed, picking up the lesser chieftains and cousins and warriors until it would swell at a might of six hundred. But was it enough? "call a meeting of the guard and gather up our warriors. The kharl will want to them to join when he arrives. They must prepare for battle."

"most of the bears here and mere cubs," Allax said, "we have no true warriors at the eye. We are black bears, not grizzlies."

"that will not matter to Thunderclaw," Venniair reasoned, "every bear that can fight will fight. That is the will of the kharl." and many will die, he thought, before it is over I may never look on their faces henceforth. But that was the price of service, and in his time, Venniair had seen hundreds of bears come and go never so be seen again. 

Allax left him and he resumed his perch. The cold night air rushed all around him as he stared out into the murky blackness of the sky. In the distance he could see the wolves, though they were tiny ants from here. They will tear you apart Thunderclaw, what are you thinking? They are waiting for you to come, can't you see it's a trap. But set by who? The wolf or the bear?

"Mr. Cartwright?" a small man was standing in the doorway of the hotel. He was sickly pale, short, and thin with yellowed crinkled fingers covered in liver spots. He looked near one hundred, Cartwright thought, but offered him a chair anyway. He looked like he needed one, as he slumped and tried to catch his breath. 

"what the hell Marvin," Cartwright laughed, slapping the thin man so hard on his back it caused a fit of coughing, "you look like shit. What in the Sam hill you run into? A train?" Cartwright howled with laughter and drank down the rest of his ale. Marvin shuttered. 

"damn bears are up there," he pulled down his sleeve to uncover a deep gash on his forearm, "the whole nation."

"what about the others?"

"all dead." Cartwright leaned back and studied the little man before him. 

"you have got to be kidding me," he said taking a swig of beer, "you had fifty men with repeater rifles, and you're telling me they're all dead?"

"they came upon us like they knew," Marvin was shaking as he spoke, "it was as we slept the night before our scheduled attack. I awoke to men screaming and running for their guns, complete chaos soon took control. They were everywhere. At least a hundred maybe more, with sharpened claws and teeth and dripping with warpaint and blood. It was over in a matter of moments."

"and you?"

"me?" Marvin asked. 

"yes," Cartwright continued, "what did you do next?"

"I ran sir-" he stammered. 

"you ran," Cartwright lit his cigar and called for another beer, "and my men? My guns? My horses? What about them? That's all my money Marvin, you mean to tell me you just left my money and ran away with your tail between your legs?"

"but sir I-" he began, "what would you have me do?"

"I would see you dying there like a man, not running like some bitch." Cartwright eyed him viciously. 

"but sir-"

"Aw shut up about it already," he got to his feet and began to pace around the room, "you know I'm sore enough you lost my hard spent dollars in less than a week up there, in fact I aught to give you a whipping and demand full payment you sorry piece of horseshit. In fact I aught to kill you Marvin, but today you are the luckiest man in the whole world. And whys that Marvin? Because today I am a happy man. An associate of mine and ours has delivered the most interesting news, and it has made us both very happy, lucky men, right?" Marvin was beet red and shivering with some violence. 

"I-yes sir!" he stammered. 

"of course marvin we are very lucky today," he gestured toward a door behind him, "my associate Mr. Harlan is the bearer of this good news," and a tall, gaunt man came through the door as if from shadow. His skin was ghostly pale, yet a dark shade fell over his eyes, and he wore all black; overcoat, boots, gloves, and top hat. His voice was like ice water. 

"greetings," he breathed. 

"and I'm sure you want to tell Marvin all about it," Cartwright chuckled, "cept he don't talk too well. Show him." Mr. Harlan came close to Marvin, and leaned down over him, opening his mouth. His tongue was sliced down the middle so it flicked like a snake. 

"a bear did that?" Marvin shuttered. 

"a wolf," said Cartwright, "but that was years ago. Anyway it's not the good news he's brought anyway. It's the wolves. One of them wants to work with us