Humans; the cause of so much bloodshed and violence. They robbed their own people of the homelands, slaughtering their people, and killing the wildlife. They cut down trees, and build their cottages there. They take without asking, and kill without reason. It was for the reason of their greed that Cutter, Blood of Ten Chiefs, led his Holt of WolfRiders into one last stand against the new coming humans. The battle lasted for two weeks before the last of the wolfriders, out matched by the humans who had developed what is known as ‘the gun’, only a few escaped from the blood spill. Yet again, forced from their homes, the surviving members fled for their lives, to new lands, and a whole new world. It is not known how they managed to cross the great water, but the ancestors of those wolfriders live deep, deep within the forests in which that small Holt discovered. The only round ears that they had stumbled across were peaceful. Like the elves, they gave respect to the land, and never spilt blood of the kill for needless reasons. Both man and elf lived side by side peacefully for many, many years. Ever still, however, had their old Holts demise be remembered, and how the great chief Cutter fell in battle. They mourned for the Gliders, who were the first to be attacked by those cruel round eared men. Their home in the Blue Mountain ablaze, the Gliders were forced out. But upon their escape of the mountain, one by one, they were shot down. Some stayed within the burning mountain, choosing a fate of fire and smoke instead of facing the firing squad of round ears that waited their arrival into the light. Thus, the holocaust of the Gliders descended on the mountains, to creep to the wolfriders. The wolfriders had heard of the slaughter of the Gliders, and prepared for battle. A strong hardy people, they refused to be chased out of their homes by round ears again. But this was a fight that no elven warrior could ever win; even with magic. The humans were too strong. But here, within the Northern forest of this nameless world, they lived once more in relative peace. For those who were there on the Great Battle, peace of mind was improbable. Many of them never smiled, nor knew happiness again. Even their sending faded in time, and those joyous merry making dances held grew to be stories told to their children. Life was a constant challenge, and the winters bore hardship. Soon, they realized that they could be the last wolfriders in existence; their offspring would be their last hopes of evading complete extinction. With that heavy on his mind, an older elf, astride a black and silver wolf, rode through the thick fog. The morning’s hunt had come up with only a couple of small deer; not enough to feed an entire Holt. Would they have to bargain with the native round ears again? It was humiliating. A chief should always do better for his tribe than have to trade all the time! But winter was raging, and so little prey was out in the night. ‘To think that we are supposed to be nocturnal,’ the old chief grunted to himself. Growling a bit, Star Swirl stopped and gazed up at her elf-friend, grinning. Looking down, Tree Pine understood what she was saying, but as a chief, he couldn’t help disagreeing. “(We shouldn’t have to live a life off of rocks! We used to be a proud, strong Holt of wolfriders! Humans feared us; under those stars we were safe. You wouldn’t even recognize us now!)” Tree Pine sent to Star Swirl. Grunting Star Swirl shook her head and carried on, refusing to argue with her friend. Sparrow would be waiting for Tree Pine’s return any moment. Many had argued with Tree Pine about venturing off alone to hunt, but the chief needed some time alone. Prints in the snow of wolves and elves alike lead in a narrow path, leading to the location of the Holt. A cold breeze made Tree Pine shiver; he was freezing. Even with that Buffalope (a creature found up in the north that had the body and build of a buffalo and the head and brains deer) skin wrapped around him, he was still cold. ‘Puckernuts to it all!’ A howl broke the song of the wind. Star Swirl stopped and propped her ears forward. “(Who is it?!)” Tree Pine demanded, glaring. “(Just me my chief)” a feminine voice sent. Out from behind a rock rode a beautiful silver haired elf, wearing a green coat and dark blue pants, with large fluffy brown kleskin (elk like creature with long ears like a rabbit) boots. Below was a large white wolf by the name of SnowDrop. “DoeSpring, it is just you,” Tree Pine sighed. The she-elf nodded in respect. “No sight of any round ears; though Sparrow is dying to get out of camp. He said he heard a herd of bufflopes while he was on his last outing with Jay Storm and Flint,” she replied rather stoically. Nodding, his young son really was starting to improve. With nothing more to say, Star Swirl trotted on. Frozen dead ferns in the entrance hid the small Holt from sight. Pushing through them, hollows of trees had been made by an elf who had been one of the first, Redlance, to make this small place home for some twenty fleeing elves and their wolves. Redlance had died last spring; some say of heartbreak over losing Nightfall. The clearing was empty; most were out scouting, while some huddled inside their hollows. They were spread out, but high up in the trees. It was some climb inside of the trees to get to the sleeping areas however. A few large rocks were circled in the clearing, for a gathering or a feast. There would be no great feast tonight if Sparrow’s hunt went unsuccessful. The young elven warrior was trudging through the deep snow now towards Tree Pine. “My chief; welcome back.” Sparrow; his young son, who had disappointed him greatly in his youth, was now a strong young wolfrider with heavy responsibilities. Once a careless prankster, Sparrow hadn't shown much promise as a leader. But the past couple years, Sparrow had really stepped up to the plate, leading hunts and patrols, giving great instruction to the other wolfriders. He sat there and admired him for a moment, but hoisted himself off. "Not much out there this time, huh?" Sparrow spotted the two deer slung across Star Swirl. They were tiny; would barely feed four elves tops. Tree Pine grumbled and pulled the carcasses off. Realizing his father's irritation, Sparrow cleared his throat. "My last patrol we came upon some bufflopes. Why not hold a big hunt, like the old Way? It might bring moral back to the Holt," Sparrow suggested. Tree Pine gazed at Sparrow, eyeing the man up and down. He was wearing a desert brown thick, leather coat and pants to match it, with strings of it hanging off the sides. Thick gloves kept the cold out. Since when did Sparrow get so wise? "Very well. I will stay behind and watch the Holt; take some of the senior wolfriders and all of the youth," he ordered. Sparrow stared at his father. He had intended for Tree Pine to go. "Chief, I don't understand. why aren't you coming? And don't you think that the older wolfriders might benefit from the hunt too?" Sparrow questioned. Tree Pine glared. "I don't want my decisions questioned at every turn! The older riders won't enjoy it as much as you young ones," he snarled as he started off. Sparrow didn't understand, standing there quite confused. What had made his chief so angry?