The sun had already begun to sink below the horizon, the sky turning all shades of orange and pink as it sank past the far-off hills and sea of grass. Zarath and Tharon slowly making their way back towards the camp of their tribe, behind them a makeshift sled made of woven grass carrying their prize on it. This was one reason it had taken them so long to make what was original only and hour or so away trip back. That and the wrappings of sweet grass an herb used to tend to small cuts witch now covered all of Tharon’s stomach. Hura limping alongside Zarath as both boys pulled on the tethers to drag the dead wyvern behind them. All three of them were sore tired and hungry after the events that took place earlier.

“Is it just me or does this thing feel even heavier now?” Tharon groaned out as he took another step, the exhaustion clear in his face and body, his tail dragged across the dirt as they walked.

“Come on, Tharon almost there, just think about it when we get back and present this thing you can ask your mom to make us hundreds of sweet rolls.” Zarath tugged hard on the tether he was holding he could feel it in every bone and muscle of his body getting thrown in the air hitting the ground the way he did. “Mom and dad better not complain when I sleep for the next three days after this.” Both boys let out a weak chuckle as they continued to drag their prize home. All the light from the sun had left the sky not a but neither the moon nor the stars had yet to come out, Luckily the boys didn’t need the light to see thanks to their biology they could easily see in the dark that was until the light of torch post and campfires light the area. But it wasn’t just normal torch post but actual torches. And dozens of them Zarath and Tharon quickly recognized Kaar (Fang), Zarath’s father and a few dozen other members of the tribes Krellar’s. Both boys knew what this was, it was a search party being formed to find them as they hadn’t made it back before sundown.

“Thrak (Father.)” Zarath called out. “Its ok we made it back and we got something big.” Zarath waved as he and Tharon came into the light of the torch post. He pointed behind him and waved again. “Thrak come and see you won’t believe it.”

          Kaar rushed over to his son Zarath quicker than any of the other adults could as he approached. He stood at least two feet taller than Zarath marking him at imposing seven feet tall. His body was built like a brick wall, years of training in and fighting as the Chief warrior of the tribe, his fur was blacker than even the night, the only true indication he was there was the brown leather armor he wore and the two metal short swords on his hips. His tail wagged slowly as he grabbed Zarath and pulled him into a tight hug.

          “Turak (son) I am so glad to see you, when your mother told me you hadn’t returned before the sun went down.” Kaar was clearly glad to see his son alive but also clearly pissed he made them worry for nothing.

          “Thrak, let go everything hurts like hell right now.” Zarath squirmed out of his father’s embrace, his body still sore and some of the bruises visible on his arm’s upper arms. Kaar quickly looked at what the two boys had dragged back with them. His face quickly dropping to one of grave concern. But quickly snapping out of it when Zarath spoke again.

          “See Thrak you raised a skilled hunter, me and Tharon battled the beast to the death it nearly killed me, and then just as it was about to get me in came Tharon with the killing blow saved my ass he did.” Zarath boasted to all the gathered Krellar present not even noticing his father’s face so proud of himself and his friend. “And Hura even got in a few hits herself didn’t you girl.” Zarath ruffled and hugged his companion dire wolf as he celebrated with himself the adult to busy examining the monstrous dead wyvern.

          “Zarath, Tharon go home both your mothers have been worried sick.” Kaar was firm with his approach despite the fact he knew what this creature was and of the sad reality it meant for his son and Tharon.

          “But Thrak, this is our kill we hunted it we have to celebrate.” Zarath was still too excited despite his injuries.

          “I said go home boy we will celebrate once you are rested and your wounds are tended to the rest of the tribe is already asleep like you should be, passing your Jura’Rahl does not make you a full-grown adult so go.” Kaar pointed in the direction of their family Kraan-thur.

          “Fine but only because I’m too tried to argue with you.” Zarath, Tharon did as they were told each heading to their mothers as instructed by Zarath’s father.

          Once the boys were out of ear shot Kaar turned his attention back to the blighted wyvern a low deep growl escaping him causing his fellow Krellar to take notice. In Kaar’s head he had failed as a father one of his sons was now infected with something he knew his people could not treat or cure. He would now have to either watch his son die or send him away to seek aid.

          “Take the beast fangs, and talons as well as some of its scales then burn the corpse away from the camp. Once you are done with that go see the Tharakar (Shaman) to be purified do I make myself clear.” Kaar held a firm tone has he spoke to his fellow Krellar the parts told them to take could be purified and given to the boys as proof they passed their rite but the rest of the body the meat and everything else had to be burned to keep the blight from spreading. “I must go tell Hrol Dhran (pack leader Stone.) about this.” With a grim face Kaar walked through the camp his tail dragging along the dirt as he did. Tomorrow would not be a day he looked forward to. Zarath made his way to the back of the camp where his family Kraan-thur was as he entered through the tent flap, he was quickly grabbed and pulled against his mother’s chest.

          “Mir Yura! (My Child.) Raal ka norik? (What were you thinking?) Lura pulled Zarath closer quickly noticing the bruises along his back, before Zarath could say or do anything his mother had him sitting promptly on a fur-covered stool and stripping the leather vest from him handing it to Zarath’s sister Luneth so it could be washed. His brother Zalith brought over a wooden mortar and pestle. Zarath then spent the next hour being scolded by his mother given supper to eat and sent to bed after being told that tomorrow he and Tharon would be called before the Hrol (pack leader). What seemed to be the end of the story was only just the beginning that night, while Zarath slept his mind was haunted by darkness. His dreams were that of a dark cold void with something strange whispering in his ear.

          “Who are you?” he called out into the void. “Show yourself.” the whispering in his ear continued. “Strong.” The voice made his fur stand on end. “Unlike others…stronger than others.” Zarath clawed and snapped at the void his fangs and claws only hitting cold air. “Strong means harder to break, but more fun to break strong ones yes much more fun.” The darkness seemed to shift and pulled Zarath down his legs caught in some sort of thick tar.

          “I am Zarath son of Kaar grandson of Dhran proud member of the Iron claw tribe you will not break me.” Zarath struggled against the tar that pulled him down unaware of how many hours had passed or what was happening in the waking world. Zarath was jolted awake by his sister Luneth shaking him almost violently.

          “Wake up you idiot, Dhrak ar Thrak dor ta sha kraal (mother and father are waiting.)” Luneth, despite her much smaller frame, was definitely his sister granddaughter of the tribe’s leader and daughter of its chief warrior. She pushed Zarath back down onto his cot. “Just because you are Grak'Shrak (death stalker.) doesn’t mean you get to be lazy now wake up.”

          Grak’shrak or death stalker it was a term used by the wolfkin to identify ones like Zarath. as white fur was a rarity amongst the wolfkin even those that roamed the northern territories or the mountains. Grak’shrak play a huge roll in wolfkin culture as they are considered the link between life and death more in touch with the ancestors that the Wolfkin pray to for guidance and on even rare occasions Grak’shrak are born with magical abilities like Valkar or the spirit weavers a small group of wolfkin born with magical abilities unlike elves or humans who have an abundance of magic users or mages or even the Felinar a race similar to the Wolfkin. Though Zarath did not seem to have any innate powers or an interest in studying with the Tharakar (Shaman) of the tribe to even see if he did have the ability to use magic though he was still forced to learn the burial rites and pray, he was content learning to use his bow and sword.

          “Aright I’m up Thrin Zarithka (little hummingbird)” Zarath stood and stretched. As he stood, he sniffed himself. He still smelled like the herbal paste his mother applied to his bruises last night, but he didn’t have time to worry about that today he was going to stand before his tribe as a true warrior a full fledge Krellar. Slipping into a simple fur loincloth he quickly ran out of his families Kraan-thur and headed for the largest of the yurt shaped tents his grandparents Kraan-thur his trusted bounded companion Hura right behind him. As he approached the flaps of the tent, he saw Tharon was waiting right outside waiting to be called in. Zarath could tell his friend had not slept well at all.

          “Tharon are you alright you look worse than after we fought that wyvern yesterday.” Zarath placed a hand on Tharon’s shoulder trying to reassure his friend of their success.

          “I’m fine Zarath just had some nightmares last night, so I didn’t sleep to well.” Thoran’s ears flattened against his head as he looked down at his feet. Zarath could clearly tell his friend was distraught about what these dreams he had were.

          “I understand, I had a nightmare as well last night but hey we did almost die trying to take that wyvern down.” Zarath gave a toothy grin, his four fangs glinting in the early morning sunlight. Both he and Thoran were about to laugh when the tent flaps opened and an older wolfkin ushered the two to follow him into the Kraan-Thur. As the two of them stepped inside of the tent, every adult member of the tribe was there from the Hrol (pack leader) and the Grak Krellar (Chief warrior), Zarath’s grandfather and father. Koto the tribes Tharakar (shaman). Even the tribe’s Grak Garmakar (master craftsmen) Tharon’s father were all in attendance today. Both boys stepped slowly through the provided gap and sat on their knees just in front of the fire burning in the central hearth of the tent. Zarath’s grandfather and grandmother sat on a small, raised platform sitting in oriental wooden chairs covered in thick furs with cushions to provide comfort and warmth. Dhran, Zarath’s grandfather had the same brownish fur his mother had though its color had faded with age and some small patches had turned gray, his face scared with claw marks from when he had to defend the tribe from another tribe his arms no longer held the strength the once did and he sat slightly hunched forward. Dhran cleared his throat coughing slightly making his wife look concerned for a minute before he spoke. His voice was cracked and soft from age.

          “Today the Iron Claw tribe celebrates two great achievements. My grandson Zarath, and Thoran son of Dranth (Cliff) have not only completed their Jura’Rahl and earned the right to join the Krellar, but they defeated and enemy older than our tribe can remember.” Zarath and Tharon looked at each other slightly confused was the wyvern they killed some ancient being or something