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The brown and tan striped wolf yawned, cracking his knuckles, stealing another glance towards the sky to see how far Solus had moved. His watch was over in two hours at Solset, when Solus sank beneath the horizon and Belluosus began his majestic ascent into the sky. The "night" was bitterly cold, and the sentry shivered. Between his thick fur and his rawhide armor, he had at least some protection from the elements, but Solus's cold gaze sapped the heat from his bones in a way that no amount of covering could ever really prevent.

"This is fuckin' ridiculous. As if anyone would dare to attack us! We're the StripeHides! We're the strongest clan in the Southern Plains! The ShadowPelts are the only clan large enough to pose a threat, and they know better than to spark a war, but noooooooooo. I'm stuck freezing my tail off without even a torch or a blanket to keep me warm."

Caecus's complaint looked like it might become true sooner rather than later. As he gave himself a rough shake, frozen droplets of dew tumbled from his fur like thousands of tiny gems. In the soft blue light, the ice sparkled and gave his brown fur a white luminescence, making him look almost like a phantom.

"Dammit... I've been stuck with the night watch for a week! All because of that no-good..."

His complaints faded into unintelligible murmurs, and then into silence. Still, he kept a vigilant eye on the waving grasses. He'd lost a bet, plain and simple, but what pissed him off was that he should have won. By all rights, the duel shouldn't have even been a challenge, yet...

He noticed that his attention was wavering and forced his eyes back to the horizons.

The wind blew steadily, from the east, and the trees behind him creaked and groaned as they danced, their leaves whispering in a chorus of a thousand silent voices, and the sentry shivered beneath its cold caress. He could leave his post to go get a blanket, but there would be hell to pay for it tomorrow if he did. If nothing else, he at least wished for a little excitement to distract him from his aching bones. He waited a few moments, before sighing again. Nothing moved but the tall grasses. He shivered again, and scraped the fresh layer of ice from his fur. There was no doubt, it was far, far colder than it had been the previous night. It had to be, for ice to form on his pelt.

That thought distracted him for a moment. It hadn't been this cold the previous few nights when he'd been on the night watch. He wasn't sure it had ever gotten this cold in his life. Unbidden, a memory popped into his head of when he'd been much younger. There were many legends about the sleeping gods, and one in particular stood out in his mind that night.

Solus is the blue sun, opposite of his brother, Belluosus. As Belluosus burns bright, giving us light and heat, Solus burns cold, sucking that very warmth from the air. As Solus is the god of Order and Peace, any change is distasteful to him. When they first built the world, he created vast, unmoving ice fields, capable of remaining unchanged forever. Much has changed since then, but Solus still despises chaos and change in any form, and actively fights against it. Before he left the world to sleep, it was said that his very gaze froze water into ice, and those who stood beneath it long enough froze solid, that they might remain unchanged forever.

There had been more to the legend, but he shook his head to clear it of such superstitious babble. Solus and Belluosus had done nothing since they'd fallen asleep, and he doubted that would change today. Still, the glowing orb in the sky looked very much like a large eye, holding all the land captive beneath its gaze.

Abruptly, the wind changed, now blowing directly from the north, and it brought with it an unfamiliar scent. The sentry inhaled deep, trying his best to place it, but he couldn't for the life of him tell what it was. There was the green tang of the growing grass and trees. There was the clingy damp that spoke of the earth beneath him. There was his own scent, and that of his armor, but the last scent danced through his mind elusively. It smelled like... dust. Like earth gone too long without rain, and also something else, something he felt he should know but couldn't quite grasp. He scanned the horizons again, and this time, his efforts bore fruit. He saw a lone figure walking towards his general direction from the north. The Traveler was undoubtedly the source of this new scent, and Caecus waved an arm to attract its attention.

"Finally... maybe whoever this is will share a moment and talk with me. Anything is better than nothing."

The sentry watched the lone traveler as he walked southwards. After fifteen minutes, it was close enough to see as anything more than a silhouette, and what he saw confused him. The traveler was very clearly a Runt; he stood barely higher than the rolling grasses, a full head shorter than the sentry. His frame was diminutive, and he walked carefully, as if he might at any moment break into pieces. It was not unheard of for a clan to exile their Runts, and the sentry looked forwards to offering the weary outcast a warm place to sleep for the night; the StripeHides welcomed all outcasts.

The figure wore a long cloak of stitched hide that covered him from head to toe. At any other time, this would have looked suspicious, but with how cold it was that night, the sentry passed it off merely as a man who was well prepared. He came closer, and closer still, until he was but thirty yards distant. Here, he sank towards the ground, vanishing from view. The sentry had stood tall to hail the stranger, and he was concerned by the abrupt descent. Had he fallen? Was he so fatigued or malnourished that he had collapsed? His curiosity and his bleeding heart ground away at his discipline. He stared hard towards where the traveler had disappeared, struggling with his conscience for several moments more before deciding. He'd go get the runt, and point him towards their camp. He could warm himself by the fire and have a softer place to sleep than the cold ground.

Quiet as a mouse, the sentry rose and padded towards where the runt had vanished into the grass. He stood tall, making himself easily visible, and called out.

"Hail Traveler! I am Caecus, of the StripeHide clan. Our camp is not far from here, and we would gladly give you a warm place to sleep."

He continued walking for a few steps more, then stopped. No voice raised to answer him, and Caecus became worried that the runt had indeed collapsed from exhaustion. He started forwards again, slowly this time, and his wary eyes darted around the grasses. His heart beat faster and adrenaline seeped into his veins as if he was walking towards a fight. Even though nothing seemed amiss, he couldn't shake a sick feeling of apprehension. Something was wrong. The smell of dust was stronger now, the air reeked of it, and he suddenly recognized what was familiar about the scent. Bones. The air was filled with the stench of dried bones. He remembered suddenly the last half of the legend.

Even now, Solus's gaze occasionally focuses on a specific place, a specific part of our world. The land turns hard and the very air freezes solid beneath his gaze; if ever the night time dew turns to ice on your pelt, be warned! The gods do not lend their attention for petty struggles, and a great tragedy will soon take place.

He stopped, and started backing up, step by step. If the runt died out here in the cold, that was too bad, every instinct Caecus had screamed for him to flee back to camp.

His instincts were correct, but his fate was already sealed. Three forms rose like wraiths from the concealing grasses just behind Caecus. They wore long, leather cloaks that covered them completely, and they absolutely stank of dust and dried bones. Just before Caecus turned around for a mad dash to safety, a wickedly sharp knife of carved bone was planted in his neck. His unseen assailant slid the knife expertly into the gap where his backbone entered his skull, and his brain was shredded by the bone's cruel double blade. He died instantly, and the attackers caught his corpse and lowered it to the ground, so that his death was completely, utterly silent. Ten more figures rose from the grasses around them, and the one with bloodied hands nodded to the rest of the group. Across the plains, the situation repeated as more of the silent assailants converged on the StripeHides' camp. Within minutes, the camp was surrounded; every sentry had died without even a whisper of noise. Shiny bits of rock caught the light, and the different groups flashed messages to each other in the cold silence. As one force, the attackers converged on the camp like ravens on a bloated corpse. By the time an alarm was raised, half the tribe was dead, and before any effective resistance could be mounted, every wolf in the Stripe Hide clan had been slaughtered like so many sheep. Not a single one of the attackers had died, and the most grievous wound among the party was a shallow cut high on the arm, easily bandaged and ignored.

They salvaged nothing, and left the corpses where they fell. Then they departed as they had arrived, leaving nothing but the faintest scent of dust in the breeze, and before long, that too was gone.

---

Several miles away, in the ShadowPelt camp.

"Let me get this straight, Runt. You really expect me to believe that the StripeHides sent You as an ambassador?"

"Y-y-y-yes sir."

Although he hated the title of Runt more than anything else, Khaejiran "Kage" StripeHide knew that his life could very well end with this meeting, and for that end he shut his mouth. Kage was indeed the Runt of the StripeHide clan. He was the slowest, the weakest, and to that end he should have grown up to be a tracker or forager for the clan, or hell, even a butcher awash with the stench of the dead, but he wasn't. He was standing in front of Mordecai ShadowPelt, chief of one of largest and strongest clans. Sending a Runt as an ambassador was a grave insult, and he stared down the StripeHide's emissary with burning disgust.

Mordecai stood in a sand circle across from Kage, and a raging bonfire crackled between them. Six ShadowPelt warriors, the best in the clan, circled the pit of fire-baked earth. Both they and the chief were covered with ceremonial war paint, and the jagged designs only heightened the feelings of violence and hatred that rolled off of them in waves. Outside the sandpit, every ShadowPelt not engaged in something more important crowded around, eager to see what happened next.

There was much bad blood between multiple clans across the southern plains, and though they did not shy from battle, neither did they seek war for its own sake. As such, they occasionally sent ambassadors to other clans to settle disputes peacefully. Traditionally, an ambassador would be one of the clan's strongest or fastest, one of the fiercest fighters, and this served many uses with many implications, but the most important one was for intimidation. An ambassador should be strong and swift, so that other clans might see his strength, and know the strength of all the clan's warriors. It usually only came down to so much male posturing, but with tensions as high as they were, an imposing impression might be just enough to keep another clan fearful of attack.

That the StripeHides had sent their Runt sent an entirely different message: We don't fear you. You're not important enough for us to send a real warrior. Your aren't worth our time, or our consideration. It was a deliberate and calculated insult, and Mordecai seriously contemplated just killing the Runt in his tracks and waging war against the StripeHides anyways.

"And you willingly came, as their ambassador, knowing what it meant?"

"As you said sir... I'm the Runt... I do as my Chieftain commands

Kage looked like we was liable to burst into tears at that point, and the only thing that kept him from falling to his knees to beg for his life was the knowledge that he'd be killed by his own tribe for such weakness, even if Mordecai did spare him. So he stood there, quivering, praying to the twin gods that he find a way to survive the night. The brown striations in his fur flickered with the torches behind him, and in the mercurial light, the stripes almost seemed to dance around his form.

Across the fire, Mordecai was faced with the difficult decision of what to do next. The StripeHides had sent him as a deliberate insult. They were flaunting their status as the largest clan in the Plains. If Mordecai responded to such mockery, it would mean war, not just with the ShadowPelts, and it was a war that he was likely to lose. If he swallowed the insult and did nothing, then he would be seen as weak. It might mean another of the larger tribes attacking his people, and they would certainly lose whatever respect they yet commanded. His wolves were tense, and their blood burned for battle. If he ignored such a blatant insult, then he might well be replaced by a chief who called for war. There was no way out, no way for him to maintain the peace. He could not very well explain to his tribe the vision he had received long ago, demanding that the peace be kept at all costs. No... The Stripes and the Shadows had been at each other's throats for years, and both sides were all but begging for an excuse to kill each other. War was inevitable, and Mordecai would rather lead his people into it than have an ignorant pup take his place.

That question was settled, but there was still the matter of what to do with the Runt. He could kill the pup, but that also carried many implications. His wolves would see it as a sign of fearlessness and strength, but the other tribes might think it more an indication of ruthlessness and brutality. The Runt was of age to be a man, barely, but it still would have left a bad taste in his mouth to kill him, especially since the boy had no choice in the matter. His life could be spared, but again, he couldn't just let him walk out. He might give the order, but his men felt the insult as clearly as he did. One of them would surely kill the pup in the shadows beyond the firelight just to spite the Stripes, even if such action reeked of cowardice. There was no neat solution, and he sighed as he decided to order the Runt executed.

As Mordecai thought, he stared straight through Kage, as if he was considering the young wolf's very soul, and judging whether it was of value. Kage watched the older wolf's eyes as his fate was calculated, worth against detriment, gain against loss, and he saw something click in the older wolf's eyes. He knew before Mordecai even opened his mouth that he was about to be condemned to death. He felt numb, knees growing weak with fear. He wavered, nearly falling backwards into the fire, and he wondered what he could have possibly done to deserve this.

Then he remembered Exactly what he'd done to deserve this. That gave him an idea.

"WAIT!"

At Kage's shout, all noise ceased, and the silence was deafeningly loud after the cacophony of drums and shouts. The only noise to be heard was the merry crackle and pop of burning wood, and the ShadowPelt clan looked on with hatred, anger burning in their souls that this impudent pup would be so brazen as to speak out of turn. They didn't need to wait long, for only a single word escaped Mordekai's lips.

"Speak."

Kage swallowed the knot of tension in his throat, and spoke as loudly as he dared so that all might hear.

"I request the right to Trial by Combat. You may call me runt, but I am of age, and I call myself a warrior. Bring out your strongest, so that we may fight. In combat, I will prove my strength."

Silence followed his proclamation for just a moment, followed by soft laughter as the Runt called himself a warrior.A grin tweaked the corners of Mordecai's mouth, but for a different reason than his clan. A formal duel was the only hope the Runt really had of living through the night, and Mordecai was glad that he could at least be given a fighting chance. Mordecai's tone altered, and his voice fell into the patterns of ritual learned by every wolf across the plains.

"You speak bravely. Let us see if your claws can match your tongue. Let the challenged step forth.

The people gathered around shouted in exaltation, and scattered to make preparations. A duel was a grand event, and the people loved nothing more than a fight in the ring. One of the wolves by Mordekai's side stepped backwards to begin stripping of armor. Muscles rippled beneath his hide, and he stood a good head taller than Kage. He was clearly the ShadowPelts' champion, and he stepped into the ring. Mordecai raised a single hand, and all activity halted as suddenly as it began, and the people once again gathered close to witness.

"Khaejiran StripeHide. You have demanded a trial by combat, to prove your worth as a warrior and to earn your right to be ambassador for your clan. As the Challenger, you shall name your opponent, and the time of the fight. Who do you challenge?"

"As I said before, I say again. I will fight only your strongest, to prove my own strength, and that of my clan, that you may know that even our weakest is greater than your champion."

It was a vocalization of the insult brought about by his very presence, and the gathered wolves looked on, hungry for his death.

"When shall your trial take place."

"At Belluosus's dawn, in two hours."

This too sent a buzz of excitement through the camp. Kage might have set the trial as far ahead as a week, and tried to escape before then, but with such a short time to prepare, he truly meant to fight. Mordekai turned to the other wolf in the ring, the Champion of the ShadowPelt clan. Saccularius was a born leader; he was fast and strong, and he had an easy charisma that garnered him much support from his fellows. The problem Mordekai saw was that Saccularius was quietly making plans to challenge Mordekai for the title of chieftain, and he had a worrying amount of support already. If, by some miracle, Saccularius lost, he would lose much standing, and lose any hope of toppling Mordekai. If the Runt won, it would kill two birds with one stone. If.

"Saccularius ShadowPelt. As the challenged, you may name the weapons used, and the condition for victory. Name your weapons."

"No weapons but our own teeth and claws."

Saccularius spoke as an easy, lilting tenor, without even a shred of anxiety to taint his voice. With knives or a bow, the pup might get in a lucky strike and kill his opponent, but unarmed fighting required strength, skill and endurance; there were no easy victors in unarm combat.

"What shall decide the victor?"

"This pup has insulted me, and my clan. When he loses, he will certainly die. He has bravery though, and if he is to die this day, he will die as a warrior. Our duel will end in death."

The clan cheered; the ritual was complete, and they resumed the bustle of activity to prepare for the duel. They doused the fire and cleared the depression that served as fire pit and fighting ring. Saccularius Mordecai remained close to Kage, and he spoke softly so that only the pup would hear.

"You have bravery enough for a mighty warrior, young pup. May you die with courage, and earn a place at Belluosus's side."

"Do you like your Champion, Chieftain?"

The question caught him completely off guard, and he blinked, unsure that he had heard correctly.

"Excuse me?"

"Do you like him? Is he kin to you? Would you mourn his loss?"

"I... yes, I would mourn him as I would mourn for any member of my clan." It was half true; if Saccularius died that day, it would solve many of his problems, all at once. "Why do you ask?"

"I ask because you will very soon need a new champion."

Kage felt about as brave as a spoonful of gruel, but he put on a good show. That was one of the few things he was good at; He could lie as smoothly and as fluently as the falling rain. Earlier, his fear had earned him sympathy from the chief. Now, all fear could do was lessen his resolve, so, with effort, he mastered it. His eyes were calm and his tone was even as he looked Mordekai dead in the eyes.

"I hope your claws can match your tongue, young warrior."

"So do I."

With that, he turned his back on the Mordecai, and stalked off to prepare himself for the duel.