"Hushed is the wind that blows through our fur.

The white moon glistens above brightening

our glowing eyes. In the distance is the faint

howling of our kind, the children of the night,

of the fang, and of the moon. For centuries,

our existence has been unknown to the humans,

the chronicles of our story lost to the reaches of time.

Our silence threatens to be broken, the fault lies with

only us, for with our fang and from our loneliness we've

fashioned war, a war with an enemy of our own creation.

If these hostilities are not laid down quickly, our world

will once again become one with the humans, and the war

will be over, and the extermination, of our kind, and

our enemy, will begin again."

- The Lycans