Prologue

The White Wolf passed beneath the waterfall, the rustling water pouring over his back and running down his sides in clear rivulets, plastering his fur to his body. He was an artic wolf, completely white with only one gray spot beneath his chin. His eyes were golden, flecked with tawny-gold and amber, and filled with a quiet authority. He carried himself with a dignity befitting of any leader of his caliber, and then some. Even with his pelt clinging onto his thin frame, he still cut a large and imposing figure of a wolf.
  Behind him came a smaller, though no less demeaning (even at this young age), wolf. This wolf was no more than a pup, though old enough and sturdy enough to stand on it’s own four paws, and cautious enough to be suspicious of it’s unfamiliar surroundings. However, the young pup trusted The White Wolf and followed him underneath the falls.
  On the other side of this thundering, ripping curtain, where a bare rock-face was to be expected, the wall opened up into a natural cave, protected from view by the rapidly falling water. The rocks, wet from the spray of the waterfall, were practically covered with lichen and moss. A trickle of water, managing to escape the downward rush of its fellows, flowed into the cave and, becoming a little rivulet, flowed into a slightly deep dip in the cave floor. This was where all that water, after a few years’ time, formed into a pool of clear, shining water.
  The White Wolf, not even blinking to help adjust his eyes to the dim light and help him get his bearings, headed straight for this pool, the pup following close behind. He led the young one up to the edge of the pool,  then stopped and murmured in the pup’s ear “I am here to show you a fraction of your destiny. Are you ready?” His voice was hollow and echoed thinly, like the wind blowing through the heather on the moorland. However, in its deepest, furthest depths, was a strangely overlaying tone of calm that eased any fears the young cub might have had.
  Mutely, the cub nodded his head, in too much awe to say anything.
  “Very well then.” The White Wolf blinked his golden eyes. “Look deep into this pool here, and breath slowly and fully.” The young wolf did as he was bid, and the White Wolf joined him, becoming one with his heart, mind, and soul.
  Gradually the pool began to swirl, faster and faster, becoming a miniature whirlpool that was, in reality, an image. In the center of this visual whirlpool, a black emptiness began to take over, taking away the water and replacing it with nothingness. It was in this nothingness that the images began to appear.
  First the image of a large, raging fire consumed the wolves’ vision, and interwoven in it, trying to keep clear of the flames, were shadowy figures with glowing eyes that  could have been wolves. This image melted away quickly, to be replaced by an image of a leaping wolf, in the throat of which a cut suddenly appeared. A bright red spurt burst out, and then the blood began to gush freely from the wound. The water became a sea of blood that was presently swallowed by a blackness so complete that not even the sun could penetrate it. And in this blackness, two amber-yellow eyes gleamed.
  Here the images stopped and, starting from the edge of the dip, the water once again formed a pool. The White Wolf nudged his companion sympathetically and whispered in his ear, “You have a hard road ahead of you, young one. Take care, and don’t be afraid, I will be there to tread it with you.” The pup nodded, and the two left the cave.