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Lornstrad woke in the mid-morning, the bright rays of the summer sun peeking through the small hole between the boards that made up the walls of his bedroom above the forge. He squinted as the suddenness of it blinded him for a second and he rubbed his eyes, getting the sleep out of them. The young Wolf could smell that his brother Freichsdar was already up and had been for some time. A quick visual inspection off to his left confirmed it as the bed had already been made.

Lornstrad sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, fighting off nausea as he did so. He had been throwing up the night before and the lingering effects were still bothering him. He slowly stood and blinked hard, trying to get his bearings. His room was a plain one, it had his bed and his brother's and a makeshift dresser made out of scrap boards left over from when his father had added on their house to the forge. It wasn't one of the fancy ones like what the Alphas and Betas used with sliding drawers; it was really just a bunch of shelves inside a rectangular frame where Lornstrad and Freichsdar could put their clothes and a few small trinkets. They lived on the second story of the house, but Lornstrad knew it was really just a shack. Lornstrad's father was an Omega, and as such was delegated to the more menial tasks that the village required and would never be able to rise above his station. His father was resigned to that fate, but it was always a sore spot with Lornstrad.

He reached over to the shelves of his dresser, grabbed one of his thin leather sleeveless shirts and put it on. Double checking to make sure he wouldn't be bothered he dropped the loincloth he was wearing and slipped on a fresh one. He slowly made his way to the whole in the floor with the ladder down to the first floor and eased himself down. Once Lornstrad reached be bottom he fought off another wave of nausea as he smelled jerky being smoked over the fire in the open area that served as a kitchen. His mother was tending the meat carefully and flicked an ear when she heard him walking up behind her.

"Good morning, Lornstrad. Are you feeling up for some breakfast?"

Lornstrad's mother was slightly shorter than average for a Wolf at about five feet, four inches tall. She had a fairly average build with a reddish coat. She wore the standard thin brown leather shirt and loincloth that Omegas were relegated to because they could not afford the finer woven cloth of the Alphas and Betas. The only adornments she had were two golden earrings in her left ear that signified her as a mated female with pups. The Markings that snaked their way across the fur all over her body told her life story to one who was trained in how to read them. Lornstrad was learning, but it was a fairly difficult thing to learn and he was still struggling. He wasn't able to learn like his brother Freichsdar could. Freichsdar seemed to be able to absorb anything, even the most difficult concepts, with ease. His mother's Markings were a vibrant blue that stood out against her fur. The color of one's Markings was a rather simple matter, and the traders who would venture through every so often had been convinced that there had to be a deeper meaning behind the colors a Wolf chose, but really it was determined by determining what colors would stand out against the Wolf's fur the best and then presenting the Wolf with their options.

When Lornstrad went to receive his first Markings he had the opposite problem of many Wolves: he had too many choices. He was as white as newly fallen snow from the tips of his ears to the tops of his paws, so he could have chosen any color for his Markings, so he stubbornly went with black for his color. While plenty of other hues had appealed to him, he simply couldn't decide what he wanted so he chose none of them. Freichsdar's Marking ceremony, when a pup gets their first set of Markings and is presented before the pack as a member no matter how low or exalted their station, had been no more than a month ago as pups are not allowed to receive their first Markings until they reach ten years of age. Freichsdar's choice was far more limited than that of his older brother. Where Lornstrad was completely white, Freichsdar was as black as the innermost recesses of the caves that dotted the mountains surrounding the village. His choice was made for him, and he was given white Markings.

The smell of the jerky had slowly wafted its way to Lornstrad's nostrils and he was hit with another wave of nausea. He quickly threw his hand over his mouth and shook his head.

"Still not feeling back to normal I see," Lornstrad's mother admonished, "Well, maybe this will teach you not to go drinking stagnant water anymore."

"Nihemisec dared me to!" Lornstrad protested.

"That's not a good reason. Don't let him pressure you into doing something you know is a bad idea." Realization suddenly hit her and she asked, "Lasta was there wasn't she?"

Lornstrad felt his face grow hot and he let his ears flatten a little in embarrassment.

"Well, yes."

His mother smiled and she chuckled in her whispering way. "You do realize that you made a far less impressive figure doubled over vomiting than you would have had you said 'no' to him?"

Lornstrad felt his ears flatten a little more.

"I knew it was a dumb idea, but he and his friends told me that they'd all drank it before I got there and they were fine. I told them I didn't want to but they said I was just scared and started making fun of me. I didn't want Lasta to think I was scared too."

Lornstrad's mother smiled knowingly and extended an arm as an offer for a hug and, after checking to make sure none of his friends were around outside he went to her and hugged her tightly.

"Why don't you go out and help your father with the forge? You may not be up for breakfast or for some heavier lifting, but you can at least be his step-and-fetch while he's working."

Lornstrad nodded and squeezed a little tighter before he went outside. The forge was right outside their front door. Well, it would have been a door if it had been made of wood. It was really just a flap of scraps of cloth and leather that they had scrounged and pieced together. The brightness of the sun made him squint as his eyes adjusted. Once he could see clearly again he looked around at the forge. It was a fairly straightforward environment, and one that his father excelled in. In the center was the large brick open fire-pit with the bellows that fanned the fires from underneath off to the side. On the other side was his father's large anvil and next to it was a shelving unit that housed all of his tools so they were always in the same spot no matter what. Closer to the edge of the forge there was a table full of designs for his commission work as well as an order log. Under the table were stacks of iron, bronze, brass, and steel ingots for his work. Hidden away in a place that only their family knew of Lornstrad's father kept the precious metals and stones that they reserved for their high end customers. They were too poor to afford those expensive materials themselves so the customers had to supply them themselves from the trade wagons that made their way through the village.

The forge itself, and by proxy their house, was just on the outskirts of the village. Lornstrad had not seen any other villages or towns before so he had nothing to compare it to, but it seemed fairly well organized. In the center of the village the Alpha's house stood tall and proud and doubled as the village's meeting place. The temple, such as it was, stood off to the side of the Alpha's house where the Wolves of the village could come and offer prayers to the gods and to honor their ancestors. The building was ornate, the craftsmen and artisans of the village giving their time and talent to make the building as magnificent as possible. Lornstrad's great grandfather had been the chief blacksmith on the project and had forged a variety of pieces for it from the nails that held the wooden beams together to the silver sword with golden inlay held by the statue of Grevnar, the king of the gods. The Beta's house was next to it and while certainly nowhere near as magnificent as the house of the Alphas or of the temple, it was no less impressive. Scattered around the three main buildings of the village were the homes of the rest of the Wolves of the pack. Their village was situated in a valley and surrounded by trees where they had thus far managed to avoid detection by rival packs.

There in the middle of the forge Lornstrad's father was hammering away on a broken plow blade that had come in for repair a few days ago. Freichsdar was standing there watching as their father would hit it, check his work against the morning light to make sure the lines were all straight, and then make the necessary adjustments. Lornstrad's father was a huge male. He was taller than anyone else in the village by an easy six inches and because of his hard life and physical labor he had muscles bulging under his fur and thick leather apron to protect him from the metal slag. His coat pattern was a mix of gray, brown, and black and he had yellow Markings with patches of fur missing from where embers had burned it away and scarred the skin beneath.

Freichsdar was the first to see Lornstrad and greeted him with an enthusiastic wave.

"Father says that after he finishes with this he's going to start working on an axe head!"

Their father smiled as he turned around and said, "Well I'm glad to see you're awake. I take it you're still not feeling like your old self?"

Lornstrad shook his head and his father nodded.

"Well, I tell you what, why don't you sit over there by the bellows and make sure the fire keeps hot. You remember how I told you to keep an eye on the color?"

"Mhmm."

"Okay. Why don't you do that for now, and then when I finish with this I can show you two how to forge an axe."

This elicited an excited tail wag from Freichsdar as he scooted forward on the stool he was seated on and Lornstrad sat himself down on the ground and watched the flames, pumping the bellows every so often if the flames appeared to be cooling off.

The plow blade only took another half hour or so to finish and by this time Lornstrad was feeling well enough to eat so they took a break and had some of the jerky for lunch. Once they had finished eating they went back outside where Lornstrad and Freichsdar watched in rapt attention as their father showed them how to punch the hole in the head that fitted the axe head to the shaft as well as how to inlay pieces of harder steel toward the edge to help the axe keep its edge.

The axe head took him a couple of hours to finish and then he took it to the grindstone to apply the edge and polish out some of the hammer marks. While he was sharpening the tip of the axe Lornstrad heard the sound of footfalls coming up the dirt path toward the forge. Lornstrad looked and saw it was the male Beta walking up towards them. Lornstrad tapped his father's shoulder and pointed. His father turned and waved as he got up off of the stool as the Beta entered under the straw roof that covered the forge.

"Most honored Beta, what can I do for you today?" Lornstrad's father asked as he bowed.

"Greetings my friend, dispense with the formalities." Lornstrad was surprised at this sense of familiarity between the two men and his shock must have been apparent to the Beta because he said, "Your father and I were the best of friends when we were pups. We grew up together and even fought side by side during the raids a few years before you were born. He's saved my life on several occasions."

"Yes, and I try to put the soldiering behind me for now my friend. What are you bringing me today?"

The Beta unfolded a piece of paper he had folded in his hand that Lornstrad had missed earlier. "My son is quickly approaching his first hunt. I've come to commission a hunting knife from you that I can present him the night before he leaves."

On the piece of paper was a rough sketch of the knife the Beta had envisioned. It was in the usual fashion for the hunting knives the pack uses, a curved handle usually made of bone or antler. The blade was fairly long and narrow with a single edge culminating in a clip point that could be sharpened on both sides. There was just enough of a guard to prevent the hand from slipping up the handle when the knife gets slick with blood to prevent the hand from moving up and cutting the user on their own blade.

Lornstrad's father eyed the sketch with an expert's eye and took it to the table where all of his other papers were kept. "Lornstrad, would you like to come and help me sketch out the customer's wishes please?"

Lornstrad was surprised his father would ask him to help with such an important project. The custom of a father giving his son a knife for their first hunt went back farther into history than anyone could remember, and was always a highly prized item that was to be buried with the male when they died. Lornstrad himself was a couple of years away from his first hunt and was already salivating at the idea that such a knife would be his one day. That his father would ask for his opinion on something this momentous was a shock to him and he inched his way over to the table to start sketching.

The Beta didn't seem to mind however and started dictating and pointing to the drawing he had provided and bouncing ideas off of Lornstrad's father. Adding ornamentation here or there where it was suitable and adjusting measurements to make the knife handle the way he wanted it to. Lornstrad listened to his father and the Beta with unbroken attention and kept drawing, fine tuning a line here, erasing anything unnecessary there, until the finalized drawing was complete. Lornstrad handed the drawing to the Beta and he looked over it with a scrutiny that made Lornstrad unsure if he would feel nauseated again.

"My friend," the Beta said, "your son has an eye for detail I have never come across before. This drawing looks real enough to cut right out of the paper!"

Lornstrad's father laughed. "Yes, he's been drawing almost since he could hold a pencil in his hand. He's gotten quite good in the past few years."

"I'll be keeping an eye on your skills child. Talent such as this should be praised and awarded." The Beta's ears drooped a little as he looked to Lornstrad's father and said, "I only wish that our laws made it permissible to rise above your station."

Lornstrad's father smiled and put his hand on the Beta's shoulder and said, "My friend I am an Omega and I've known this my whole life. As long as my children are provided for and my wife has a roof over her head I am happy."

"That's what I have always admired you for," the Beta said.

• • •

Lornstrad worked with his father and Freichsdar around the forge for another couple of hours or so, working on various other projects and gathering materials for others that they would work on the next day. Around midafternoon his mother came out of the house where she had been working on preparing the evening meal and asked, "Lornstrad, would you take your brother and go gather some wood for the fire tonight? I'm going to need a little more than we have."

"Okay. Come on Freichsdar, let's go."

They went off into the forest that was just on the edge of their property and started looking. Lornstrad always enjoyed going out into the forest. There was a brook he would sometimes go and sit by, just listening to the sound of the running water rushing over the stones at its bottom, polished smooth by time. He knew this was a good area to gather wood so that's where they went.

Freichsdar was starting to fall a little behind and yelled, "Lornstrad! Wait for me! My legs aren't as long as yours."

Freichsdar was fairly short for his age and had a hard time keeping up with Lornstrad's longer stride. Lornstrad himself was fairly average height for his age, but always walked with a fast, long, and purposeful stride that would often outpace him from other Wolves, even those who were taller than him. Lornstrad sighed and drooped his shoulders as he turned and looked over his shoulder as Freichsdar trotted to catch up, panting heavily when he reached him. Freichsdar had always had a hard time getting in shape and when compared to other Wolves in the village he was fairly sickly.

Once Freichsdar had recovered well enough to continue they went on, gathering sticks and a couple small logs. Lornstrad had to carry these because, despite his youth, was just beginning to bulk up from helping his father around the forge and the chores. They had been out for about only fifteen minutes and Lornstrad was just about ready to head back when he heard Freichsdar cry out.

Lornstrad whipped around and saw Freichsdar sitting on the ground, the pile of sticks he had been carrying scattered around in front of him, indicating his fall. He had his hand up around his upper left arm and there was some blood seeping through the gaps in his fingers. Lornstrad dropped his logs and sticks and ran over to check on him.

"Here, let me see," said Lornstrad as he reached up to move Freichsdar's hand. The cut itself was fairly small but it was fairly deep.

"Go back to the village, Freichsdar. I'll pick up what I can and I'll follow along shortly with whatever I can carry. You'll be alright, just calm down."

Freichsdar was trying to fight back tears but he sniffled wetly and nodded as he got up and started heading back in the direction they had come.

Dammit, Freichsdar. Why do you always have to be such a pain?

Lornstrad grumbled to himself about how useless Freichsdar was and how this sort of thing usually happens when there was work to be done. Lornstrad hoped Freichsdar would make it back without damaging himself further. The last thing he needed was to find him huddled over again with a broken leg.

The wind suddenly changed direction and Lornstrad caught a strange odor on the air. His ears perked up and he felt his heart begin to race. It was both familiar and foreign.

Wolf!

Lornstrad knew it wasn't from his pack. He threw himself to the ground and began to listen, focusing solely on his acute hearing to pick up the sounds of any movement. The breeze died down and he lost the smell. He knew they were coming from the northwest, but exactly where they were coming from and how far away they were now he couldn't be sure. He tried to slow his breathing so he could better hear for movement through the woods. He heard a slight rustling not too far off to his left. There had to be a few of them, but maybe no more than three or four. Lornstrad listened even closer as he strained to pick up more details. He heard more off to his right and he felt his heart start thudding harder and harder, almost like his father was inside it beating on a hardened piece of steel on his anvil. He heard a rustling in front of him, no more than ten paces. They'd be on him in a matter of seconds.

Lornstrad broke, launching himself to his feet and bolting back in the direction of the village.

"Seize him!" Lornstrad heard exclamations behind him as a few Wolves broke their silent advance in favor of speed.

He heard the twang of a bow string and a matter of moments after an arrow whizzed by his side, spurring him on to greater speed than before.

More arrows flew past him as he ran faster than he thought possible. Suddenly a fiery pain shot through his calf and he fell into a small divot in the ground, crying out in pain and surprise. He hit the ground hard, feeling a tooth get knocked loose, cutting open his lip. He spat it out, feeling with his tongue that it was one of his upper right side teeth. He felt a warmth spreading from his lip and from his leg and he ventured to look back.

The pain suddenly became all too apparent in his mind as he looked and saw an arrow was lodged halfway through his calf, blood pouring out around it and running down the shaft that was protruding from out the other side. He tried to fight back the urge to cry as he tried standing but was unable to get his leg to support him and he collapsed again.

"Well now," came a voice from behind him, "what do we have here?"

Lornstrad whipped his head around and looked over his shoulder at the Wolf standing behind him. This wolf was of similar patterning as his father, though definitely more gray. It was at a time like this that Lornstrad wished he could read Markings. What he did recognize however, was the war paint. It looked like the Wolf had taken a large bowl of red paint and just poured it over his head, like he was drenching himself in blood. More Wolves gathered around him, there had to be twenty of them surrounding him, some of them pointing arrows at him and others with steel daggers, axes, or even swords.

"Where are you from little one?" asked the Wolf that had first addressed him.

Lornstrad fought back the tears and the fear, trying to look brave in front of the hostile Wolves surrounding him. The wolf that had been speaking to him stepped down into the shallow hole drawing a knife that had been concealed in his belt. The Wolf eyed Lornstrad and slowly lifted his foot and put it to rest on Lornstrad's wounded leg. Lornstrad involuntarily let out a muffled whimper as the contact sent a bolt of agony through his leg and the Wolf standing over him smiled and steadily applied more pressure. Lornstrad couldn't fight it any longer and screamed in a mix of pain and terror as tears poured from his eyes.

Some of the Wolves around them started laughing to themselves and nudging their fellows with their elbows and jabbing their thumbs in his general direction. The Wolf let the pressure off Lornstrad's leg, walked around, and crouched near Lornstrad's side. The Wolf grabbed Lornstrad by his muzzle, his gigantic hand easily wrapping all the way around and gave Lornstrad's head a shake.

"I said, where in Hell are you from you little son of a bitch?" He let go of Lornstrad's muzzle and slapped him a little with his fingertips, the claws digging into the skin just enough to break it and for blood to slowly seep from the fresh wounds.

"I don't know," Lornstrad lied, "I've been on my own now for almost as long as I can remem-"

Another slap rocked Lornstrad's head, slamming his muzzle into the earth as his vision filled with stars.

"Don't you lie to me!" hissed the Wolf ferociously as he took his dagger and pointed it directly at Lornstrad's throat. "I can tell just by the condition your clothes alone that you've not been out of your village for more than half the day at least. I can smell the smoke of a fire on you, and the smell of other Wolves. Now tell me and I may let you live, where is your village?"

Lornstrad fought to see straight through the panic and the ringing in his ears as his vision slowly returned.

"Leader Gravtak! We found his trail! It's faint, but we can still follow it!" came the voice of a Wolf that Lornstrad couldn't see.

Gravtak's mood changed as he smiled and looked down at Lornstrad. He reached around and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hoisted him into the air as though he barely weighed anything.

"Look around you, pup. This is the last thing you'll ever see." Lornstrad felt his heart grow cold and his stomach want to heave as he saw the host of Wolves around him. Easily a hundred warriors, all armed to the teeth with a wide variety of weapons.

"Enjoy the afterlife pup," Gravtak whispered in his ear. "This life can be so cruel and... fleeting."

With that he tossed Lornstrad aside headlong into a tree. Lornstrad was awake long enough to feel blood running down his head and into his eyes as his whole world went dark.

• • •

Lornstrad woke slowly, the early sunlight of a new day just barely breaking through the dark of night. He must have been out for more than twelve hours. His head was throbbing and reaching up he could feel that it was at least beginning to scab over. He was scared to look down at his leg as he could feel the arrow still protruding from either side. He looked anyway, and saw the dried blood all down his leg, fresh blood was still there, but its flow was for all intents and purposes stopped. Lornstrad looked around for a moment and found a decently sized stick and placed it in his mouth. He took a few deep breaths and drew his leg painstakingly inch by inch closer to his body and arm's reach. He was fighting for each shaky breath as he took the arrow in both hands and prepared himself to snap the shaft.

"One...two...THREE!"

Lornstrad shrieked around the stick in agony as he broke the arrow shaft and yanked the rest of it through his leg, fresh blood trailing after it in the air. Lornstrad fought off the urge to pass out, taking deep, though raspy, breaths and forcing himself to stand as best he could on his right leg, leaning against the tree he had been thrown into for support. He hobbled along as best he could until he found a stick just tall and sturdy enough to support his weight like the staffs that the elderly used to support them as they walked around the village.

THE VILLAGE!

Lornstrad began to panic as he limped as fast as he could back toward the village, tears streaming down his face as his fear for his family escalated with each step he took. It seemed like an eternity before he got to the last hill that obstructed the village from view at the bottom of the valley. He couldn't make out too many details, but he was certain of one thing: the thick, black column of smoke rising from the temple and many of the other buildings.

"NO!"

Lornstrad ran as best he could, feeling warmth start spreading down his leg again now that he was pushing so hard to make it to the bottom of the hill. What he saw when he got to the bottom Lornstrad could feel everything he was seeing being burned into his mind like a hot poker from the forge. Bodies of his friends and neighbors were everywhere. He saw the blank eyes staring out unseeing from the faces of the friendly baker who used to give him a small sweet roll when no one was looking. He saw the throat of the old storyteller, slit wide open like a cruel smile of a demon, his blood pooled around the carcass like a macabre moat. Lornstrad fought off the tears as the sights and sounds slowly started pouring into his consciousness. He could hear the wailing of women, the crying of children, and the howls of the men.

Lornstrad limped as fast as he could to the outer edge of the village across from where he was, more sights and sounds burrowing their way into his brain and eating away at him like termites. As much as he tried to focus on his singular goal of making back to the forge all he could see was the carnage, death and destruction around him. Finally he went up the path that the Beta had taken only yesterday to commission his son's hunting knife.

The forge was completely collapsed, the shack attached to it damaged but still standing. Sitting on his haunches in front of the wreckage with his back to Lornstrad was Freichsdar.

"Freichsdar!" Lornstrad cried.

Freichsdar looked over at him, his face stained by soot and tears. "Lornstrad!"

Hearing Freichsdar's voice seemed to give Lornstrad greater energy and he went as fast as he could up the hill. When he got to the top he saw the full extent of the damage. His father was face down surrounded by the bodies of six of the raiders, his outstretched arm reaching toward their mother who was buried under a good portion of the wreckage that had collapsed.

"Dad...? Mom...?" Lornstrad choked out.

He knelt next to his father and heaved as best he could to move his father's massive frame and roll it over. When he did he saw a massive gash across his chest and a puncture wound that went clear through his throat and out the back. His knees had been slashed from behind, severing the tendons and collapsing him. He stared just as blankly as the other corpses that littered the ground around him, but unlike them, he seemed peaceful.

Lornstrad blinked away the tears and turned back to Freichsdar, limping toward his brother and collapsing hard on the ground by him in grief and exhaustion.

Lornstrad wiped away the tears and sniffled. "Lornstrad? Is that you?"

Lornstrad snapped back to reality immediately at the sound of his mother's voice.

"Mom!" Lornstrad cried.

"Lornstrad, listen to me, I don't have much time," his mother wheezed. "After I'm gone, go to your grandparents' village in the mountains to the east. You remember how to get there, yes?"

Lornstrad nodded, tears once again streaming down his face as he and Freichsdar leaned in closer, each of them holding her hand.

Their mother smiled as she began to tear up as well, "My beautiful boys, I'll miss you until I see you again. But I'll be with your father, and when you join us before the gods, we will be there waiting for you with open arms. We were going to wait until your first hunt ceremony to tell you our names, as is customary, but under the current situation, it seems more prudent to tell you now." She coughed and fought to regain her breath as blood started to ooze from the corner of her mouth.

"My name is Iarla, and your father's was Rohir." Iarla's eyes began to droop and her breathing became more shallow and labored.

"Look above the dresser in your room. You'll find our last parting gifts for each of you."

Freichsdar sobbed, "Don't go momma..."

Their mother began to cry through the pain it caused her, "I'm afraid I must."

Lornstrad burst into tears. "No! We can't lose you too!"

"Come closer, my eyes darken. I want you both to be the last things I see."

Weeping, Lornstrad and Freichsdar leaned down over their mother's face and her eyes shone one final time.

The hand that Freichsdar and Lornstrad were holding grew slack and the spark in their mother's eyes faded, leaving only a foggy black staring out at the children she'd loved.

Lornstrad pointed his muzzle toward the sky, letting out a guttural cry that changed into a howl that echoed throughout the valley.