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Senka was bored. Extremely bored. She had been following the river for quite some time and had not seen hide nor hair of another wolf for far too many days. Now, she had a fine appreciation for the positive qualities of solitude: no one to pester her, no one to interrupt her thoughts, no one to make any demands upon her. Sure. She did like certain aspects of solitude, but she was a storyteller. By her very nature, she thrived upon the dramas and lives of other wolves. In order to learn about those lives, she had to see other wolves. Speak to them. Interact with them. Her undying curiosity made it impossible for her to be content merely weaving her own tales. Sure, she could use her time alone to fine-tune the stories she had already collected, perfect them, give them a nearly hypnotic quality to draw in an audience, but that was just it. In order to have an audience, Senka needed other wolves. In order to gather more stories, Senka needed other wolves. In order to satisfy her all-consuming curiosity, Senka needed other wolves. So, while even she enjoyed her solitude from time to time, she was not a solitary creature. Other wolves were as necessary to her as rain to a flower. She could survive for a time without company, but left alone too long, she would wither away.

Senka huffed out a breath. Surely she would come upon more wolves, soon. Telk might be large, but it was not large enough to hide all of its wolves from her forever. Just then, like a gift from the gods, Senka caught a whiff of what seemed to be a pack’s borders. Her tail wagged slightly. Dare she believe it? Surely her nose was not playing tricks on her. But no. As she got closer, the scent grew stronger. At last! Some relief from her boredom, however fleeting it might be. Or perhaps it would not be so fleeting, after all. Perhaps it would keep her entertained for quite some time. She certainly hoped so. Her ears pricked eagerly forward, she picked up her pace in hopes of an interesting encounter.

It was not too much longer before Senka’s nose alerted her to a fresher scent. A presence nearby. She did not think that she had reached the border, yet, but perhaps she was closer than she had thought? Or perhaps the other wolf had strayed from his territory or did not belong to the local pack, at all? Possibilities. Senka did not particularly care which was true, she was simply happy that she was about to meet another wolf after such a long time spent in solitude. She could only pray that he would be amenable to company. Of course, even if he was not, it could prove entertaining to try to convince him that he was. It hardly mattered either way.

Ah. There. A flash of movement. His mottled fur blended in well enough in the surroundings, but she was certain that this was the other wolf she had scented.

“Greetings,” she called, hoping that he would turn towards her rather than force her to chase after him.

Pleased with his friendly greeting, Senka grinned back at him. The way that his bold mask stood out against his fur was most interesting, and as she got a better look at the rest of him, she understood why he blended in so well with the surroundings. Mottled, indeed.

He called her friend? How amusing. Of a certainty, she had never met a wolf so immediately and unconditionally friendly. Especially not a wolf who met a stranger at his borders, and she was certain that these were his borders. The proud way in which he had named the territory was evidence enough for that.

“I am Senka,” she replied. “This is my first time in the area and it is my journey that brings me to your YMCA territory.” However strange the name may be.

“I am a traveling storyteller, you see, and it is my duty to seek out new places and new stories during my travels.” Well, technically she was not required to learn new stories, but it would be such a waste to take such a journey and learn nothing new. Regardless, the journey itself was her duty, so it was close enough.

So unconcerned, she noted, wondering how he had gotten so far in life without losing his confidence. Then again, Senka could not really throw stones. After all, she had never feared anyone and had only rarely been wary. What will be, will be, and thus far, her luck had proved as inviolable as ever. Who needed to worry about anything when things always worked out in the end? Still, she had never met a wolf as cavalier as herself. In fact, it seemed like Balios might be even less concerned than her. Most interesting.

Mirroring his relaxed state, Senka sat back with a casual grace. Clearly, this wolf had no intention of harming her and if worst came to worst, she figured she could hold her own.

“Indeed I have traveled far, seen much, and heard a great deal more,” she replied. “Though I will not travel forever, of course. My pack will be needing me back someday.” That day was still a ways off, however, and Senka had every intention of eking every last drop of pleasure out of her journey while it lasted. The gods only knew when she would have the chance to make such a trip again. If ever. Speaking of the pleasure of knowledge…

“And you, Balios? Do you have a path in life?”

Senka eyed him in turn, certain that she had never been looked at in such a way and not entirely sure that she liked it. But all things considered, that hardly mattered. His opinion of her profession, on the other hand, did matter. The she-wolf took great pride in being a storyteller and she did not like the thought of anyone belittling it. Perhaps it was best that she give him a little education. In that light, his flattery went right over her head.

“A far cry from it,” she said in a lazy tone that belied her slight irritation. “The tales that I collect on my journey are mostly for amusements sake. Stories of little true importance to the pack, but of great amusement for lazy winter mornings. However, there are also valuable stories that I learn of. Dangerous packs to be wary of, information on potential enemies. It is amazing what one can find of value in the least expected of places.”

That was all certainly true. Her journey did have purpose. She was gathering important information for her pack. It amused her to note for the first time that this portion of her life was spent not unlike that of a spy. She was not disguising her intentions, of course, but the fact remained that she was collecting useful information for the pack, even as she was also satisfying her curiosity. A by-product, perhaps, but a worthy contribution. Ah, but she was getting ahead of herself. Senka broke off her mental tangent and returned to the point.

“The true duties of the pack’s storyteller, however, are much more basic and vital. I preserve our history. All the wisdom and follies of our pack are remembered by the storytellers so that we always remember where we came from and we never repeat a mistake. Ours is a long history, but we have always remained strong and we never forget.” It was evident from her tone that Senka was just as proud of her pack as he was of his. And just as proud of her duties.

Somewhat placated, Senka decided to forgive him his trespass. What was the point in staying angry at such a wolf, anyway? She figured that she might as well humor him. After all, she found that she rather enjoyed speaking of her home.

“Incendia Ignotia is an ancient pack, going back many, many generations,” she began. “We live high in the mountains in a beautiful valley rich with game. Of course, living in such a paradise, our lands are often threatened by would-be invaders. From the very beginning, we have been warriors.” She recalled the many tales of Cinaed and the First Pack with fondness and pride. Such great wolves. It was a pity that so few like them remained. But she was getting ahead of herself again.

“I will not burden you will the full story, but Cinaed and his wandering warriors found our land and, a few years after they claimed the territory, the gods gave them a blessing and a warning. They were warned not to grow too confident, too hedonistic. They were to live their lives honorably and under strict guidelines. In return, they were spared and given fire. A source of life. An eternal reminder. A gift from the gods.” Images of its beautiful, hypnotic dance flickered through her mind. Such a lovely gift. Powerful. Dangerous. Truly, it was an honor to have been entrusted with it.

“Ever since then, we have kept to our traditions as the gods dictated and our warriors have never once failed to protect our lands.”

His question amused Senka. He truly was like a curious pup, though any pup born to her pack would not have to ask such a question. The answers would be obvious.

“You have never been in the mountains, have you?” But she did not wait for an answer. “The winters are fiercely cold. If you are not careful, you can freeze to death within a matter of hours. Fire provides our caves with warmth. Warmth enough to weather even the most ferocious storms and keep our pups safe and alive.” That was the most practical reason. As for the rest, she was not certain that she should be spreading tales of her pack’s rites to outsiders, but what was the harm, really?

“It also provides a test. An initiation, if you will. Every wolf must go through a trial by fire to be considered an adult. It weeds out the weak. Our pack needs to be strong. We cannot afford feeble warriors or we would never be able to protect our lands.” Did that sound harsh to him? It was simply practical, to her. A weak wolf would be of little use in battle. Besides, they were not cruel. They did not banish or kill those who failed their test.

“Beyond that, the fire is sacred. It brings us life, so we honor it in death.” Senka’s thoughts turned to Bryanni. Her beloved mentor who was now consigned to ashes. “We burn the bodies of our dead to honor their lives and to honor the gods who gave us fire. It ensures them safe passage to the afterlife, as well.” Indeed, her pack lived and died by fire. It was their way. Did this sound strange to him? She measured his reaction with curiosity.

Senka noted his shiver with interest. Perhaps he did know what a harsh winter was like, after all. But that was neither here nor there. He was curious about their rites.

“They vary from wolf to wolf,” she said. “For myself, it was simply walking over hot coals. It did not hurt very much, really.” Of course, she had practiced before-hand, just in case, so she had built up a resistance to heat in her paws. “One of my year-mates had to jump over the roaring flames without getting singed,” she added.

Really, there were too many variations to name. Some posed more danger than others, of course, but the purpose was not to maim the new adults. That would be counter-productive. No, there would be no lasting damage, even if there might be a little pain involved in the act itself. Besides, it would be difficult to enjoy the festivities afterwards if one was in agony.