Marian lived in a growing village called Forks. She, her father, mother and brother. Her father, Christoph, was s blacksmith. Her mother, Penelope, sold cloaks to the villagers. And, her young brother, Aaron, was only eight. Their only other living relative was her grandmother, Elisabeth. A widow, who lived alone in a cottage in the forest.

Marian was the eldest child of her family, at fifteen. She shared her parents looks; brown hair, dark eyes, and a light complexion. People called her beautiful, among the prettiest of the girls in their village, in fact. Her's was a hand sought after by many.

Forks lied on the edge of a dark forest. To the west lied the treaty-line that seperated their lands from native Quileute territory. To the east lied Mount Olympus' west peak. And, the forest surrounded from all sides. There was only one existing road from the rest of the kingdom, that forked at their village; hence it's name. It lead to Quileute territory on the western boundary, Amanda Park in the south, and Port Angeles in the northeast. Forks was the only large village that far north, on the west side of the mountain.

For centuries Forks had been plagued with werewolves, since the first days Forks was established, as only one small group of homes on the edge of the forest. Then was the first time they attacked, killing whole families, snatching children from their beds. Or so was said.

After time went on and the villagers refused to leave, they began sacrificing livestock to them. Ritually leaving cattle or swine as tribute for the wolves at each full moon, and afterwards the killings stopped.

The people of Forks adapted. They stuck together. The women would wash clothes by the river, in groups. The farmers would harvest their crops, in groups. The woodcutters would work only in the daylight, in groups. Never alone. From time to time people left by themselves in the forest would go missing, taken by the wolves, they would say. But, the villagers would blame the victim. They shouldn't have been alone.

As Forks grew in size and population, the fear lessened. Less and less people went missing, less animals were sacificed, less people went in groups. When the deaths stopped, the worry stopped, and when the worry stopped, the fear stopped. They became merely stories.

Years passsed and Marian grew up in a time where the fear of the wolves was merely a whisper in the back of their minds. When she was young, she and her mother would make the long trip to her grandmother's home. Her father's mother, Elisabeth, lived alone in a cottage deep in the forest. After her husband's death she refused to return to Forks and live with her son and his family. She wanted to live freely while she was still valid, didn't want to conform to the rules and laws of society. Young Marian had always admired that, inspired by her grandmother's free spirit. The villagers of Forks considered Elisabeth a mad spinster.

After her twelfth name-day, she was allowed to make the journey alone. But her mother was sure to warn her, "Don't talk to strangers. Don't stray from the path." From time to time little Aaron would accompany her, but that was a rare, as her mother considered him too young.

Twice a month Marian would make the long trek to her grandmother's cottage, by way of the forest path. She would leave at sunrise and reach Elisabeth's just before dusk, stopping only once at noon to eat. It was best to be out of the forest by nightfall, her parents would say, though her grandmother never seemed to fear. Even so, Marian knew there was something out there to fear. The forest had many secrets.