Prologue

"Come," the man told his wife, "Put the child down here."
The woman looked at the bundle in her arms. She held the wee babe tightly.
"Put it down!" The man yelled. He watched as she reluctantly and gently lay the baby on the forest floor. He grabbed her by the arm. She pulled back to catch one last glimpse of the sweet face.
The twisted figure suddenly shone brightly at her, beaming off the child's forehead.
"Now! Let us go!" the man shouted at her, and pulled her harder. She looked at him in fear, took one last look at the infant, then turned to leave.

The wolves heard a cry not far from their rendevous site. One by one, they followed the sound until it led them to a clear part of the forest.
Placing his nose on the founded child, the alpha wolf, Brolo, pulled in the sweet essence of a gifted one. The others watched closeby and knew his decision when he gently grasped the blanket between his teeth. The child hanged there, and fell asleep on the way back to the site. Brolo turned to look at his pack, and the wolves saw the mark of the gods, the only true sign of a gifted one, placidly lit on his forehead. And they knew.
The prophecy was about to come true.

Chapter one

Saracne returned from the lake only to find Brolo, an angry look on his face. "Alright," she said, "I didn't just meditate. But the lake looked so gorgeous! And on such a wonderful day-"
"Sometimes we must resist temptation," the man interupted. "You are nearing your sixteenth summer. It is almost time."
"Time," she replied. "All you ever talk about is this time! Sixteen summers I have prepared for this time! And not once was I told what this time really is."
"You shall know soon enough," Brolo told her. "Now get your longbow. We will practice your shoot."
Saracne walked into the cave that served as the entrance to the wolf den. She dragged her longbow out from underneath two wolf pups, waking them up in the process. They jumped all over her, yelping , and soon the whole litter was awake. Saracne looked around for her quiver and found Therixz, the alpha pup, stretched over her quiver chewing on an arrow. His mother, Faeyra, shook off her sleep and picked up Therixz by the scruff, shook him good and scolded him for ruining Saracne's arrow. Saracne giggled, picked up her quiver and walked out of the cave.
Brolo stood at the edge of the trees. "Well?" he said, "let us go now."
Saracne followed him until they reached a clearing, the spot where they practiced dueling and other such self defense. Brolo turned to her and said, "Go ahead. Shoot the target."
Saracne aimed her arrow at a tall pine between two others. The target was drawn on the tree with bright ink. Just as she was about to shoot, Brolo grabbed her arm. "You're doing it wrong again!" he told her. He put his arm around her and guided her hands to the correct positions. She looked up at him while he was sorting her out.
He had whte hair, but not because he was old, just because-- well, because. His eyes were young and full of life. They were an amber colour. But not really amber. They were one of those colours you just couldn't put a name on.
He caught her glimpse and she looked away. She focused on her bow. He had only made it worse. "No, no, I won't shoot like this," she said. Saracne moved her hands back to the postitions they were in before and she heard Brolo sigh.
"Fine," he gave up, "have it your way." He watched her and saw the mischeviousness suddenly crawl into those pale blue eyes. She suddenly swerved the bow to her right and let go, watching as the arrow hit one tree on an angle, then another, him having to dodge it a few times until finally, it landed smack-dab on the target.
Brolo looked at her in astonishment. "How long have you been waiting to do that?"
Saracne smiled, slyly. "I didn't even know I could." She walked over to pick up the javellins that were strewn across the forest floor.
"Show off," Brolo mumbled. He took the javellin that Saracne handed him and held it in postion across from him. Saracne held hers in position and smiled, then she started swinging it in different directions with one hand. Brolo threw his head back and sighed at her showing off. The pause was only an advantage to Saracne who thrust the long stick forward, pushing him backwards and onto the ground. He tried to get up but she held the javellin to his throat.
"T'was you who told me never to look away, old man," she told him, a hint of humor in her voice. Brolo stood, embarrased that his student had overthrown him so. He looked at her smiling face and returned it with a straight one. Saracne's grin dissappeared when he turned away. "What?" she inquired.
He faced her.
"It is time."

"So you're telling me that I have some sort of power?"
Saracne and Brolo were sitting beside the fire, warming themselves as Saracne stared, confused.
"Aye," Brolo answered. "You have the gods' magic, as do I."
"So you are saying that I can do magic--- like you?" Saracne asked.
"Maybe more than I," Brolo told her. "You can speak to animals, you know that much."
"Yes," Saracne replied, "but some can do that without having the power of the Gods."
"You carry the symbol of the Gods. It rests on your forehead, much like mine." Brolo replied.
Saracne pushed back her blonde hair and rubbed her forehead with her fingers, questionably.
"It is there when you are using a considerable amount of magic talking to the animals. Sometimes it appears, other times it doesn't. You have more power inside of you that's just waiting to be unleashed," Brolo told Saracne. He watched her pull her hands down and continue to look at him, confused. "Saracne," he said, " You have such a gift with animals. I want you to learn to morph."
Saracne laughed. "Like you?" she asked, referring to the wolf form he sometimes carried.
"Yes." Brolo answered her.
Saracne's smile vanished. "Buw how am I supposed to do that?" she asked him.
"I'll teach you as I was once taught."

"Shhhh...." Brolo's voice slowly died down and he released his hands from Saracne's face. "Listen." he spoke softly. Saracne heard the soft paddle of paws hit the earth. Too light to be Brolo's. It was Faeyra, the alpha female of the pack. Saracne heard Faeyra sit on the ground in front of where Saracne was sitting, crosslegged. "Look with your mind," Brolo told her, "See what my mate sees; follow Faeyra's sight." Saracne didn't understand, but she pushed her mind until her head hurt. She let out her breath, slumped her shoulders and opened her eyes.
"I can't do this!" she protested.
"You have to do this!" Brolo retorted. "It is time! Now let us try again."
After many hours of trying, Saracne started to fall asleep. Faeyra wasn't delighted either, but Brolo insisted.
"No Faeyra," he told her, "Not yet my love, do this for Saracne."
Faeyra nodded. Try Saracne, she told the girl.
I am trying, Saracne spoke with her mind.
"You have to relax," Brolo told her. "Hold on to Faeyra if it will help you. Just see with her eyes. Look as a wolf looks."
Saracne reached out and touched Faeyra and held on with something she could only describe as twines of magic. Saracne gasped as a sudden feeling swept through her. Her eyes were closed, yet she saw herself. She was looking at herself! She was sitting there like she was, with a gold stream of light shining brightly from a twisted image on her forehead. The vision suddenly switched to Brolo, but she couldn't see him clearly. The only colours that made him up were red and yellow with shades of black and white. But his eyes. She saw them clearly, the same colour as always. They were staring intently on herself. She started feeling tired suddenly and the breath was pulled out of her as the vision swept back to her own. She looked at Brolo through her own tired eyes. "I did it," she told him.
He smiled at her, reached down and kissed her forehead. "We will do this again tomorrow," he promised. "Once you understand the eyes of the wolf, you will make the transformation."
He let her lean her exhausted body against him as he walked her back to the den.
"Tomorrow," Saracne yawned.
"Yes," said Brolo, "Tomorrow."
"It is time."