The White Ones
So this happens to be an idea that's been bouncing around in my head for awhile. I'm not sure if it's worth while, or if I'll ever get around to exploring it, but I thought I'd pick some brains and see what people think about it. Comments are appreciated.
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The White Ones. The Blessed. The Gifted. The Children of the Moon. Whatever you wanted to call them was irrelevant. All that mattered was that they could use magic. There wasn't a single one born that couldn't. It was one of their many gifts. But the reason they were revered wasn't for their proficiency in the magical arts. Rather, it was another gift. Their Runes. A blessing unique to every Child. Nobody really knows why some are born as White Ones, but that's how it is, and how it's always been. Imagine my surprise when I woke up on the morning of my seventeenth birthday to find that I was Gifted.
I never saw it happen; I was sleeping at the time. But it seemed to have happened sometimes during the night. My tawny coloured fur had turned as white as the most pristine snow. Not a single speck of my body had been spared. But what frightened my parents the most, bless their hearts, was the glowing mark on my left shoulder. My Rune. A simple hexagon etched on my shoulder, shimmering in a pale, icy blue. They'd all the right reasons to be scared. I know I'd be if I were them. Nobody had every woken up one day and found themselves to be a Child of the Moon. At least, until I came along, in all of my newly seventeen year old self, standing at a whole 5'8" and skinny as twig. It's quite a way to wake up on your birthday, let me tell you.
Needless to say, I was soon brought before our Alpha and the Council in no time flat. I caused them quite a bit of fuss and arguing, but they eventually decided there was nothing to do but to teach me how to use my gifts, like all the other Children before me.
The question, was who? Who would be my teacher in the magical arts and help me stumble along the path to learning how to use my Rune? That, of course, led to another heated discussion, one that was interrupted by a knocking on the Council Room door. Stepping into that ancient chamber was the Pathfinder. The Pathfinder, a wolf of around fifty years of age and barely taller than I was, but one that commanded respect from everyone. Everyone including the Alpha and the Council. He just walked in, uninvited, smiling a small, crooked smile and, as if he knew exactly what they were talking about, said three simple words: "I'll teach him."
This was, again, unheard of. All the Council members started prattling to each other, and really, I can't blame them. The Pathfinder had never taken on a pupil, let alone expressed his interest in teaching one, so why would he want one now? It didn't matter, because he wouldn't have no for an answer. He would be my Teacher, and I would be his Apprentice. I would live with him while he taught me magic, and that's all there was to it.