Chapter 1: The Totems of Hircine

"Among those of us to whom Lord Hircene bestowed his most precious gift of Lycanthropy, there are legends that he also set into the world specific artifacts of his power. They date to a period when men could neither write, nor speak, nor barely think, but the powers of blood of the beast were yet flowing strong among the selected. The first: a carved skull, of the wolf itself. Used by those ancient shamans in the blood ceremonies that created our lineage, it is said to grant a great presence to those who prostrate themselves before it, such that those who witness their forms cower in a terror unknown except to those who have glimpsed the face of Hircine himself. The second: a thigh bone, carved as the skull, but from some animal unknown. Used as some form of medicinal wand in the more ancient brotherhood, it was said to grant a kind of heightened awareness, both in sight and smell, such that the prey could never flee too far from our senses. The third: a simple drum, its mundane appearance meaning it is most likely lost to the mists of long ago time. As our fathers would beat time to summon their brethren from the fields, so too would our forebears in the blood call their allies to them with its pounding. Through these totems, we channel and focus our energies of the beast. While werewolves give up the powers of magic known to men, we can tap into a more direct natural energy at times, and through these totems, discover the abilities that first tamed the world before wrought civilization sullied it."

Matska shut the book with a soft thump and stared down at her golden-haired babe. The child looked up at her wide-eyed and silent from beneath the pile of furs atop her straw stuffed pallet.

"What are you thinking, young one?" Matska asked.

The child huffed and blew overgrown blonde bangs away from her expressive blue eyes. "Does that mean I can never do magic?"

Matska grinned and shook her head. "You will be able to if you put your mind to it, I'm sure – just not in your wolf form. But such things are far away. Magic requires a teacher, and you must learn to embrace Lord Hircene's gift before you learn anything else."

"Mother?"

"Yes little one?"

"Does Lord Hircine love us?"

Matska smiled. "In His way, yes. He shared with us his greatest love, which is the hunt, and he grants us eternity with him in his hunting grounds when this life is at its end. Now go to sleep little one."

After a hug and kiss goodnight. Matska settled the furs around her only child and busied herself with the night's preparations before stoking the fire and heading off to bed herself. She smiled up at the straw thatched roof thinking of her daughter's questions. After a while she murmured her nightly prayer, "Lord Hircine, protect this child that loves you so, as her father now hunts at your side. Keep our young pup safe, may she always be the hunter and never the prey, so that she may grow strong and bring glory to your name," and drifted off to sleep.

Deep into the darkest hours of the night Matska's eyes flew open in the darkness -the wolf screaming a warning in her head. She lie still, barely daring to breathe and listened. There – a sound that didn't belong – leather and steel pressing into the soft ground too near the house to be a coincidence, too quietly to be innocent passersby. She sniffed the air and exhaled silently, a puff of steam in the cold night. SILVER.

Silently she rose from her bed and shook the sleeping child. The girl's eyes flew open, a flash of gold glowing in the darkness. Matska removed the child's white night clothes and replaced them with one of her own dark colored tunics, which fell well below the child's knees. She filled a small pack with an extra set of clothes, boots, and the bread left over from their dinner all while calculating silently in her head. 8, 12, 15 . . .Too many! There are too many! We'll never make it together. Still silent, she moved the rug away from the corner of the room and opened the door to the cellar. She climbed down and lifted her daughter down after her. Carefully she unlatched the door hidden in the bushes behind the house. On the dirty cellar floor, she knelt in front of her daughter and pulled her close before kissing her on the forehead. They stared at each other in silence for the few moments that could be spared.

Matska pulled the leather strap from around her neck and placed it over her daughters head. On it a wooden carving of a wolf danced alone. Inside Matska the wolf howled in alarm. "Little one, when you hear me call, run. Run and don't look back. Do you understand?"

The child nodded frantically in the darkness.

Matska took a deep breath, "As soon as you reach the cover of the trees, change, as fast as you can."

"Where will I find you? Where should I go?"

Matska shook her head, choked back tears, and determined that her last words to her child would not be lie. "There are too many, my sweet love. If you can, seek out the Companions in Whiterun hold. Ask for a man named Kodlak Whitemane."

Matska's eyes went gold as she heard shouting and the sound of a torch landing on the roof. She kissed the girl's face and headed swiftly up the stairs, carefully replacing the rug over the latched door. The roof was burning, glass shattered as more torches flew through the windows. "Lord Hircine, I give my child over into your care. Make her feet swift and sure. I will slaughter these men in your name and they will know true fear. But protect my little one, may she live to hunt another night."

As the room burned around her, Matska unlocked the door and shifted. The wolf broke through in a protective rage. She howled in fury, lusting for the blood of those who dared threaten her young one and leapt into the night.

Several weeks later, lost and half mad from grief and hunger, the young pup was drawn to the sound of crunching bones and ripping flesh, and the overwhelming scent of warm blood. She crept toward the noise along the edges of a pine thicket. A large dark brown werewolf came into view, gorging on the fresh carcass of a large elk. Salivating, the pup crept forward, belly close to the ground, one careful step at a time. Closer and closer she crept until a deep rumbling growl of warning froze her in her tracks. She swallowed and flickered her eyes up. The big male wasn't looking at her. A few more creeping steps forward and she could almost touch a small piece of the kill that lay discarded a few feet from the feeding wolf. He growled again. She stopped, whined softly, and then crept forward and opened her mouth. The big wolf snarled and pinned her with a menacing stare, bristling. Unable to fight the hunger overwhelming all other senses, the pup snatched a piece of the kill and ran. She barely made it out of the clearing when a shadow crossed over her and the huge male stood in front of her teeth barred commanding her to drop it. The pup snarled. A tiny ferocious growl that was half plea half threat. She was knocked halfway across the clearing for her trouble, her prize snatched away. Her first instinct was to howl plaintively for her mother, but then she remembered – her mother was dead.

The adult wolf watched as the pup rolled end over end and came up with her nose in the air, ready to call for her mother. He half wondered what kind of female would come crashing through the underbrush to take him on and sat down to wait. But the call never came. The pup opened her mouth and took a breath, eyes closed, nose in the air . . . and then nothing. He watched closely as she opened her eyes. He saw something broken in her expression, as though she realized no one would answer, and then he saw something else. She rounded on him in a tiny ball of reckless snarling desperation and flung herself at his throat. He snorted and stood on all fours effectively bouncing her off his chest. She shook herself and stalked toward the tiny piece of meat he'd taken from her, bristling and growling. So he ate it.

A momentary look of disbelief crossed her baby face and then she howled in outrage. He snorted again in amusement and then yelped in surprise as a snapping ball of fur hit his face and needle sharp puppy teeth clamped down on one of his ears. He shook his head to dislodge her and planted a huge paw on her stomach when she fell to the ground. For the next ten minutes she squirmed and snapped and furiously snarled, while he watched with growing interest. When she'd tired herself out, he removed his paw. She curled into a ball and lie still, defeated, while he returned to his kill. After a few minutes, he chuffed softly. She opened her eyes, but didn't move. He chuffed again, and then growled. She slunk forward and settled down beside him to eat.

Watching her, he realized it had probably been days since her last meal. Her desperate gorging caused him to furrow his brow in what he told himself was definitely not concern. When she couldn't eat any more she sat, tummy bulging, and lifted her face toward his. He looked at her skeptically. She let out a plaintive whine and stood on her hind legs. With a long-suffering sigh, he leaned down and cleaned her face, and then stalked off into the trees with her trailing behind him. It only took him a few moments to locate her small stash of belongings in the forest. He snatched the small pack up in his jaws and led her through the trees and up into the rocks. She followed him to his den and after he made himself comfortable, snuggled close to his side and fell asleep.

He told himself that when the morning arrived, he would deposit her somewhere safe and get on with his life. He closed his eyes and was annoyed to find that the safest place he could think of, was with him . . .