The Journal of Mathias Nightshade
Before my father created the Northwest Territory, we were scattered and alone in the world. Our numbers were declining and we stayed away from others of our kind.
As lycans, we are not meant to live solitary existences and so we carried the shared burden of isolation and shame. Our wolves craved the pack but larger numbers always drew the hunters.
There was never warning signs. One day everything would be normal and then at night - the fires and humans would show leaving nothing but burned relics of homes and families.
My earliest memory is of my mother hiding me and my sister in a small den in the ground while the sounds of men were surrounding us. My father was on his way, his howls booming up and down the mountainside but he was too late.
Afterwards, my father was never the same. When one of our kind mates, or falls in love, there is no going back. The elders believe parts of our souls mend together upon mating and upon death the surviving mate is left with half a soul. They usually find death.
When one of our kind dies peacefully, it is believed their soul resides in our ancestors - the wild wolves. They are as separate from us as we are to humans. We are all parts of a whole and upon death will return from where we were born.
Most lycans would have taken their surviving children and fled before dawn - putting as much distance between the hunters and themselves. But my father stood his ground. He would not leave the lands where my mother's wolf soul now roamed with the other wild wolves.
After a year of withstanding groups of hunters upon hunters, more and more lycans came to stand with my father. He was a fearsome man who showed no fear in the face of battle. He had lost the most important thing in his world already. The large influx of refugees slowed until the later time of my teenage years saw fewer lycan families.
And this is where my journey begins. Our children have to understand our past before they can decide our future.
