There have been times when I would have sung with Silverpaw, together howling to Selune the Moon Mother of our pack’s victory and strength. But not this day. Today the bear was too enormous, too strong and too maddened by hate and rage. So our pack fled and scampered back to our den. But a pack needs a reproach every now and then, does it not? How else would it discover the flaws in its strategy and improve the hunt?

But our hunt was not without some success. I am told that we got the information we sought, and I have so far kept the promise I made to Zena. ‘To the Abyss and back is where I would travel to return to you’, that is what I had told her. Zena had just smiled. Perhaps she had hoped my words were just a lover’s embellishment. But her heart thudding against my chest as I held her told me that she knew the truth. The smile had just been for my benefit.

From the moment we arrived in that place I knew I did not belong there. None of us did. That place was the very embodiment of all that I abhor. Everything there was twisted, and perverted into a cruel malevolence that grabbed you about the neck like the fetid jaws of a rabid beast. I was afraid. Only a fool would not admit the threat of such a place. Silverpaw’s massive form bumped against me to jolt me out of my destructive reverie. His mind touched mine. *The pack is order. The pack is harmony of movement. The pack follows the alpha. That is our purpose. That is our strength.* He was right and I began to shake myself free from that maw of evil and doubt.

Once inside the city, with help we tracked our prey to its den. Our help came in the form of a loathsome creature I now know to be a Vrock. This ‘Slippery Jack’ responded to some hand signals from the jackal wolf, our Bishop. I have seen him use such gestures before in the company of dishonest sorts, so that did not surprise me. That Balbeeto spoke to the creature, however, surprised all of us. But a hunter will often learn the calls of its prey to lure it out of its den. I wonder what more surprises and strengths our new pack mate will reveal to us.

Our destination in the city was appropriately named the Black Heart Inn. All creatures we came across in that horrid place would fit well into that description. It was decided that Silverpaw and I should try to track a thing called a Bone Naga. We found the thing’s rotting scent on the second floor and headed to the first floor of the inn to tell the Bishop and Reinhalt. The dragon-but not-dragon as Silverpaw refers to him, was already heading upstairs and the Bishop appeared to be attempting to mate with a Tiefling. The Bishop should be true to his mate in Sygil, but he is the jackal wolf, after all, so it is to be expected. I was still silently debating the Bishop’s virtues when the screaming started, when we were discovered, when the hunters became the hunted.

Run. It was the only choice. When two packs fight for territory, the larger pack will win. It is why wolves call to one another at night. “Here we are,” they cry. “Hear our voices. We are many. Do not challenge us.” Well, I heard the demons’ howls and they were many, too many, an entire city of them. So we ran. Well, we tried. Not all of us were fast enough.

I caught sight of the jackal wolf, ever quick, getting ahead of our pursuers. I knew not the fate of Balbeeto, the shiny one and dragon-but not-dragon. I only hoped they had gotten ahead of the demons also. The alpha held her ground against a giant, frog-like thing. Helga struck at it with her claw, which earned her a gratifying howl of pain from the frog beast. Silverpaw and I began to roar an approval, but instead snarled in shock and fear as the blood of the creature began to blister and melt away her skin. Young wolf leapt from Silverpaw’s back and ran to support the alpha. What Tobey lacks in experience and size, he more than makes up for in courage and skill. He has learned fast. He will lead his own pack one day. I just had to make sure he lived long enough.

I charged forward, making a direct line for Helga. Silverpaw did the same for young wolf, who had by now been dealt the same horrid wounds as Helga. Polar bear and dire wolf jaws snapped at our pack mates’ limbs, a violent but urgent message to get on our backs. Such strength those two share. As we fled to an escape that I have learned we owe to little wolf, not once did alpha and young wolf lose their grip of our fur. Though I admit, when Silverpaw and I collapsed on the other side of the portal, our tongues lolling and our chests heaving, it was not of our pack’s triumph that I was thinking. No. It was of how close we came to failing, failing our cause, failing the ones we love, and failing ourselves.

I am probably too hard on us, but I am learning that this…calling I have chosen is a hard one. Hard just like penmanship. If the old wolf, Tobers, were here I know what he would say, “You write like a drunken owl bear. Even the wolf could produce letters more eligible than that!” I think he would be proud of me for practicing my writing, though. I would have liked to have shown him my progress. But he is gone. Gone just like the fearless Martigan and the lone wolf, Enial. ​ I think I have come to understand why they left the pack. The pack gives us strength, unity and companionship, but what it does not provide us is freedom. I don’t mean that our friendship is a cage. Never that! But while we are together we cannot find our individual purpose, that deep, honest desire that is buried way down inside each of us. Nor can we really test ourselves, and come to know our true worth, our true soul. But my time as a lone wolf must wait. The final hunt is yet to come and I need to improve, to understand my weakness and improve the hunt. I have come too far. There is too much at stake. ​ Who am I writing to? Is this journal for myself, for my father, for Zena? And how could I forget you, my lady Ehlonna, my lady of the woodlands? Is this journal for you? No. I think not. I must believe that you have already peered into the depths of my heart and soul and seen merit there that I have not. I will do my best to be deserving of that trust and return it with equal faith in you my Lady. So, then, who is this journal for? ​ Mother. Wherever your spirit rests, these words shall be for you. Your son does not forget you.

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