Wolfwren's fortune

[Silverwren]

Wolfwren walked through the vale, her head held slightly low, her
rhythmic gait swaying as she swerved a tree or missed a stump, she
was walking, to find out what would happen to her, her fortune, her
navy eyes glowing the darkness of the vale, this is were the fortune
teller lived, Wolfren wondered if she really was a seer, they could see
what would happen, a strange but powerful gift thought
Wolfwren, her pace quickened, now a strange feeling that she must
get there quickly, a energy,

the path was becoming darker, darkness was falling, " i suppose i
should find somewhere to sleep, night is coming" she wondered aloud,
the vale was getting darker still as Wolfwren found a cave and curled
up inside it, the dark was coming, she closed her eyes,
strange dreams followed of her friends and other strange vargs,

she woke up, licking her sore paws she left the cave/hole and
continued walking, the forest was becoming lighter, day was creeping
across the hills, suddenly her surroundings changed, she was there.

[Cinder]

Cinder lapped voraciously at the wound she had just sliced with her fangs. The rabbit was still alive, still kicking desperately to escape, but the Seer held the prey down with a massive, taloned paw. She grinned sickeningly at the red liquid that gushed from the cut across the rabbit's flank. No, she would not feast upon the Lera's flesh. Lamia, the demon soul that lived with her would not permit Cinder to that. Instead, she drank it's blood, like a wolfen vampire. She would attempt to finish her meal when she did not feel Lamia's presence so strongly.

The maddened Fortune Teller stopped lapping at the blood abruptly. She sensed someone near, coming closer and closer into her hideaway. “Not now,” she growled to herself. The Vail had been short of visitors for most of the summer, and she wished it would stay that way. She sighed. No, it was her accursed duty to answer the Vargs’ questions if she could. If an old friend popped up, she would welcome then wholeheartedly. But, then again, a varg as ugly and strange as she did not have many friends.

The visitor was getting close, so she sent out her mind. It was a young she wolf named Wolfwren form Koran. Good enough. When she sensed the cub behind her, Cinder spoke. She did not turn to face her.

“Welcome, Wolfwren,” she rasped in her broken voice. “Emissary of the Koran pack.” With that, she lowered her head and bit into the rabbit’s throat. The lera screamed briefly, then lay still, a river of fresh blood leaking from the fatal wound.

Slowly, Cinder turned to face her visitor. The right side of her face came into view. She was horribly scarred. No fur grew there, only scar tissue in all sorts of sick, fleshy colors glistened in the shadows. Her brindled fur, and skinny, boney body did nothing to soften her appearance. She licked at the blood that drooled sweetly from her lips.

“I am Cinder, the Keeper of the Vale. How may I serve you?”