| ❝ | We of the Flying Mother.
By the Wind, the Shadow, and the Night sky.
We who gather at the edge of her waters.
We who fly at the heels of our mother.
We will forever sing for her daughter, and calm the storms.
We will forever dance for our mother's joy.
We hunt under stars and make celebration from her tears.
We live by our mother's blessings.
We will watch for the shadows and hold back the darkness.
We will call to the moon and the stars will hear us.
By rite we live and by rite we die.
We are the Watchers of this world, heed our songs. | ❞ |
This was the creed of the Watchers when they first took to the Eastern wood. It may have been left to the fates that they journeyed here, or perhaps it was something far darker that led the clan to stay.
In time, the noble pack found its way eastward, and the remnants of the cunning breed came upon the borders of a deep and misty forest. The tall, gnarled trees made a canopy over the forest floor, their dark leaves foreboding to those outside of its gloomy threshold. The hills were steep, the ground jutted with rocks, endless plantlife - it made the desert look more welcoming in its simplicity.
What it did have, however, was the scent of game, and a lack of ownership. What else could they do? While the land was harsh, it had what they needed to survive. The fact that they'd have some place to rebuild their history and their pride was more important than the lack of light.
So they proceeded. They walked the outer border to be sure. It was completely without wolves, and strangely had been for a very long time. Whatever pack had been there before had cleared out years ago. It was all for the taking, and so they did.
They sent a a group to investigate the darkness in those early days of learning the intricacies of their home, but the group did not return. They sent another scout, and this time they came back with word of a clearing where mossy boulders and masses of stone jutted out of the ground with an acceptable scarceness below the cliffs near the sea.
It was then that the pack set upon the place, and skirted the inner edge, only daring to venture further into the maze-like trees when the land was too harsh elsewhere. They reached the shore, and upon the cliff they moaned their claims to the Sun, the Moon, and the great and fiery stars that danced above in the heavens and below them on the sea.
The land was brighter here. The newcomers could make do. They took to exploring their new home, each time getting further and further into the depths of the eerie fog and trees.
This pack took up residence in what they took to calling the Bowl. along the cliffs the coastal caves filled at night and made it safe to rest within, should one make there way deep enough inside.
They did not expect, however, to have guests within their lands so early in their proclaimed sovereignty. Only a little time had passed since they'd settled in the Bowl, but signs of warning were already beginning to take shape. Carcasses were going missing, howls were being heard in the distance, in the trees. This place still had a presence, though of what they couldn't know.
Foreign paw prints that faintly appeared in the mud after only a moment of looking away. Quiet voices in the woods could be heard when one was alone. Things had started happening, and the wolves were not prepared.
The first full moon of their stay brought terror. the light revealed silhouettes barely visible surrounding the Bowl. The few Epsilons left after the dispersal of the Great Pack prepared for an attack, but nothing came. Finally the Alpha risked her hide to try and reason with them, but all that night she did not return. When morning rolled over the marshlands and the moors with a cold fog, all that was left of the invaders was the remains of the Alpha. Her eyes were glazed, her bones broken - though not a drop of blood was spilt but from her wide-open mouth.
The pack tried to flee the forest, but to no avail. They followed the tracks they'd left only weeks ago, but it wound back to where they'd began. Try as they might the territory would not let them leave. Attempts were made to find help, but all that the parties spoke of was whispers in the trees. They were trapped by whatever force had taken their leader, by whatever the last pack had left behind. Only when they stopped fighting the woods did they find they could move through it without fear, without losing their way.
There was no escape from that place. The pack would have to live among the other entities that lurked in that forest. And so they watched. They prepared. They sang and beat their paws on the dry mud when they were alone in the trees, and they stayed out of the deep woods for fear of harm. They became the Watchers, their eyes on the shadows, their heads held high. They would not give in to the Dead Growths...
