Long ago, when the dens were burrows lesser than those of rabbits, and the brown soil broke from each other in the winter, there lived a tawny chocolate she-wolf.

Her pack fell victim to punishment from the lunar goddess, they were cursed to forever appear to have eaten the clouds that guarded the moon, and, eventually, perish from it.

This fate befell the she-wolf's entire family, until she was the only one the cloudy illness decided not to suffocate with their horrible water vapour.

She left, speeding through the undergrowth, eventually discovering our pack after several days of torturous nights beside the water, thrashing about like heavy and dark thunder. We took her in, fed her.

And she became adept in the art of healing, until she passed at the age of five. Any other pack would have been at her throat, hounding her out of their territory like a stream swashes its rocky edge.

Our one didn't. Our one's different.

- Waning Winds Pack history story, flaunted as a symbol of their pride in their titles and ranks.