This is that tale.
This is a tale from before the Fire, before the Dark, when the world was still green and the sky was still blue.
We had a Pack in the north, running free under the moon. The hunt was good. The Pack was strong and the prey was weak. The prey was a Hunter, a small running-Hunter; and so he turned, hissing spell-words, but he was claw- and tooth-strong, not spell-strong.
The Pack closed in. The youngest drew first blood, hissing. Wait, the running-Hunter hissed in simple-speak, but the Pack would not wait after a wounding, and they sprang upon him; yet his flesh was familiar. The youngest shrieked as the blood on her claw turned black. It was not running-Hunter blood, but spell-bloo
My actions seemed to prompt my companion to snigger, giving me a look of amusement as I rubbed my hands together. Between the three of us, I was probably the most heavily dressed, wearing a jacket, jeans, and a layer of thermals underneath to keep myself warm. My friend, on the other hand, simply wore jeans, t-shirts and jackets, as if to mock me for my lack of threshold for resisting the cold.
"Yeah, yeah..." I muttered as he was about to say something, trying to brush off whatever smart comment he was about to make. It was mutually understood between the two of us that I wasn't entirely used to cold weather, having come from the tropics, but