Meadow Runner chased after the frightened stag, weaving around trees as the pack pursued its prey in the dimly lit forest. The autumnal sun still hung low, its rays still too low and weak to depart any real warmth to the running wolf. Not that the chill slowed him down any: the excitement of the hunt coursed through his body as fast as the blood that kept him alive, his heart pounding to the beat of the hunt. Meadow Runner would only stop when the hunt was over, the prey slain for the nourishment of the pack. If the irregularity of the deer's movement was any indication the moment would be soon, exhaustion clearly beginning to bleed through the stag's graceful movements. Sensing the inevitable kill, Meadow Runner tapped into what reserves of energy he had left, eager for the killing blow, the transcendent moment when life and death mixed as teeth tore through the delicate anatomy of the neck. Saliva dripped from Meadow Runner's jaws as he drew close enough to the stag to see the desperation in its eyes, the knowledge that it had lost the day. Silent as death, he tensed his legs for one final push and launched himself into the air, excitement rising as he jaws began to close on the stag's neck and his nostrils were filled with the scent of animalistic fear and spiders-
Meadow Runner immediately began to stir in his pen, his dream broken by the intrusive smell of spiders and cold rock. It was a scent all the wolves knew well, one that always made the scar over his right eye itch with remembered pain. He still didn't understand how Moonlit Glade's Shadow could bear to carry a drow with that horrid smell, even if the source wasn't evil like the rest of the wretched dark elves. It wasn't the smell of one drow that had caused Meadow Runner to stir, however: the way it hung heavy in the air there had to be at least six of them crowded in the pens where the inn's customers' mounts were kept. Unwillingly his mind flew back to one of his earliest memories, the first time he encountered the smell of drow. Searing pain as a blade flashed over his right eye, robbing him of its sight. Menacing laughter fading in the distance as he ran, yelping, to his mother's side. The crushing sensation of his father's paw pushing down on his chest, the message from the elder wolf all to clear: the smell of drow was always associated with pain and oppression, and he should never grow comfortable with it. Against his better instincts, the bitter memories brought out a low growl as his hatred for the drow surged to life within him. Unfortunately the growl betrayed his awakened state, and Meadow Runner was the first of the wolves to feel the bite of a silent bolt from a drow's handheld crossbow before darkness claimed his mind.
Midnight Glen's Shadow willed his ears to stillness, resisting the urge to shift them to better catch the almost-imperceptible twang of small crossbows being fired. He was the lightest sleeper among the wolves and thus the only one with the presence of mind to remain calm as the stench of betrayal filled the pen's air. He had heard the drow and their pitiful attempts at stealth before they had begun to fire, but he kept quiet and hung near the shadows in the back of the pen, his body as tensed as it could be without betraying how he was awake. He would only have one chance to get away and find their masters, and it depended on that one moment when the drow opened his pen to make sure he could get a good shot at the wolf.
As if on cue, Shadow began to hear the gentle hiss of metal sliding over metal as a drow unlocked his pen. The door sung open slowly, the intruder desperate to prevent any sound from escaping. Fortunately for Shadow the drow was so focused on not making any sounds of his own that he failed to notice the barest of swishing sounds as Shadow's fur brushed the floor, the wolf preparing for his desperate leap. After a few tense seconds Shadow finally saw the dimmest outline of a crossbow tip as the drow swung the door open with the same arm that held the weapon. Any of the other wolves would have chosen that moment to launch their escape attempt, but Shadow was the most experienced when it came to battle. He waited out that deceptive moment, prepared for the crucial second when the drow had decided his shot and began to pull the trigger.
Arul Mo'Shurah took a steadying breath, then held it in a futile attempt to calm his nerves as he opened the door to the final wolf pen. He wouldn't be so nervous, except by this point all the other wolves had growled before his companions silenced them with the tranquilizer bolts. His target was eerily quiet and had such black fur that he had to use his dark vision to make him out in the dim recesses of the pen. He couldn't tell if the wolf was still truly asleep: he couldn't make out any motion, but so did most prey before it became a predator's lunch. After a couple more breaths he decided he had a good enough bead on the wolf to risk taking his shot, his finger just beginning to move to the trigger to launch a bolt at the black wolf's forehead. Arul would remember centuries down the line the intense embarrassment he felt when he saw the wolf become a blur of motion and shrieked in surprise, his aim going wide and the crossbow bolt sailing harmlessly past the wolf's right shoulder. Everything after that was a blur as the wolf ran into him, the lupine momentum sending him crashing against the door and compressing his rib cage with the force of the impact. He lay on the ground, wheezing among the straw and animal offal, listening to the distress of the other drow as the wolf raced past them before they could reload their crossbows and get off reliable shots. The sound of the wolf's impressive escape gradually lessened, although Arul would never know if it was because of the wolf's speed or the rapid onset of unconsciousness.
Midnight Glen's Shadow ran through the streets of Welgard, sure that he could find temporary safety in the surrounding forests until he could find their masters. He ran as fast as possible, hoping that he could get through the gate before the hostile drow. He heard the slap of his paws on the cobblestones reverberate from the buildings along the street, the town slowly stirring as dawn's light began to peek over the horizon. Shadow quickened his pace even more, desperate to reach the gates before the bustle of the town's daytime activity trapped him in the city with his drow hunters. His pants grew heavy and desperate before the gate appeared in the distance and Shadow saw dark humanoid figures moving around the gate. He slowed down, then sped up again as he realized the figures moved sedately, clearly fighting off the last vestiges of sleep instead of preparing themselves for a wayward wolf. Shadow shifted to the right of the street, hugging the shadows of the building to avoid the guards' notice until he could escape through the gate.
Just as Shadow began to feel hope that his escape would continue without interruption, he saw a lightly garbed drow run from an alleyway across the street. He slowed his approach as the runner talked quickly with the guard before running back from whence he came, leaving the guard to quickly yell out some orders to his compatriots. In the span of about a minute there were several guards hovering before the gate, looking in the shadows as if scared something would jump out at them. Shadow quickly banished his growing sense of despair, slowing his approach to ensure that the guards wouldn't catch his form as he slunk through the shadows. This would be Shadow's only chance, before the rising sun stole most of the possible hiding places in the city. Just as desperation was about to get the best of him, he saw the little door beside the gate open as the outside watch turned in for the day. Shadow dashed toward the portal, knowing that hesitation could well prove fatal. Unfortunately, even as he pressed his way past the guards moving through the door, their eyes wide with shock at the dire wolf rushing past, he felt the bite of a blade as it stabbed into his left shoulder as the most alert drow swung his blade at the fleet figure of the wolf. Shadow felt the blade tear into his body but didn't stop: if he did, he would surely draw his last breath there on the threshold of his escape. He felt the blade tear free as he escaped into the clearing around the walls before dashing toward the tree line. He heard the whistle of arrows as they passed by him, then a flurry of thuds as the final few shots thudded into the trees as Shadow finally reached the temporary safety of the forest.
After ten or so minutes passed Shadow finally felt fatigue catch up with him, his breath ragged with exhaustion from the night's activities. His steps were slowly drifting to the left as he favored his wounded side, the gash throbbing with pain every time an errant branch slammed into it. The blood loss was beginning to dull his thoughts, until eventually he had to slow to a walk to avoid braining himself on a random tree in the forest. After about an hour even that was too much and Shadow resigned himself to finding a suitable place to rest, looking for any place that would hide him from his hunters' sight. Shadow had waited too long to look for shelter, though, and ended up collapsing in the middle of a clearing only an hour outside of the walls surrounding Welgard.
Shadow slowly stirred, wondering if he was dreaming. His nostrils were full of the scent of roasted squirrel and his left side, which should have been wracked with pain and infection, felt more powerful and limber than it had in years. As he opened his eyes he saw a cloaked figure standing by a horse, arranging the various straps until they seemed sturdy enough to his liking. He began talking to Shadow, but the wolf couldn't hear it over the rumbling of his stomach as he noticed the remains of a campfire with several roasted squirrels left propped up next to the dimly glowing ashes. He ran towards the meat and voraciously tore into the roasted flesh, eating to restore the energy he had lost.
Varric stared at the large ebon wolf as it tore into the squirrels he had left to help restore its energy after his healing. He was sure it was one of the five wolves that he had seen with the travelers that had gone to the Temple of Moradin, although he couldn't fathom how it had come to be in the middle of that clearing with such a large wound in its side. Fortunately the Raven Queen had heard his prayer and decided that the wolf's time had not come, giving Varric the power to mend the wolf's flesh and drive out the incipient infection. He reached out to the minor spell he had used to hide the campsite, dispelling it into the air as the finally swung onto his horse. Before he started off, though, he heard a low whine on his right side. Staring down, he saw the wolf nuzzle his right leg, clearly thankful for the food and the healing. He held out his hand and it gave it a quick lick before returning to the fire and the other squirrels. Varric opened his mouth, about to call the wolf back, then closed it as he realized the wolf's intent: although thankful, it would stay in the area until it had done what it needed to do. He let out a soft sigh, then made a quick prayer to the Raven Queen to protect the rest of the wolf's companions from the harm it had escaped on its own.
Varric was only gone from the campsite for a minute or two when he felt a small, nagging sensation. He turned around on his horse to see the wolf, still barely visible between the trees, watching his departure in silence. As Varric watched the wolf slowly turned and began to walk slowly into the forest, back towards the city of Welgard. Varric felt his conscience rise up, and made a second prayer to the Raven Queen, this time begging her for enough power to cast a spell. As divine power flooded him he gave the wolf's departing figure one last gift, a rare enchantment he had devised over his years of service to his goddess. It would only work once, and only when the wolf most desperately needed it, but Varric felt his conscience rest as an inner voice told him it would enough. He didn't know if it was the Raven Queen's divine interference or a trick his mind played to appease his conscience, but he was sure that the wolf would survive its upcoming hardships and that the enchantment would be enough to get it through the worst of it.