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