Mountain of Dire t.aken

It had been too easy. The wolves of the western valley were far too trusting, and the little girl that romped happily at her side was no different. Every so often the silver and ivory she-wolf would glance down to the cub, cold blue meeting fiery orange. The tawny furs of the girl’s pelt ran in her family – that much Fleetfoot knew. She watched the wolves of the western valley and she learned. And she waited for the perfect timing. The gods cried to them, seized their wolves and took everything from them. They had taken Blackcrow. She would satiate their hunger and feed them the blood they thirsted for.

Such a pretty girl, it was a shame. Every so often the frosted she-wolf would solidify their friendship by leaning down to nip the girl’s ear with false affection before giving a laugh of lies. They weaved across the lands. Up through the Wildwood and to the slopes of the mountain, rounding the neighboring pack borders so as to not alert anyone of their presence.

No, it hadn’t taken much. The girl had been playing just outside of the pack lands and with a promise to fulfill the cub’s desires of exploration and adventure, Fleetfoot had coaxed her from her home. She hadn’t even needed to use force, as she had first planned. Such a pretty little cub.. the Gods would be pleased. Such a naïve and stupidly trusting soul.

The clouds above darkened, promising snowfall. A smile smoothed to the tainted woman’s lips. The Gods would cover their tracks, and the packs would be none the wiser.

Rissa Tainn was taken, and they could do nothing about it.