A/N: Here is the first chapter I've ever put it without having anything written of the next... Guess I'd better get writing! Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter!
drifter950- thank you for your long reviews. I've been to the Queen's Own website, but never considered joining- (I think I found it for reference material...) Maybe I should!

Two years later…

Faolan's nose twitched as she padded through the forest, her paws sinking into cool moss. It was dark, but Faolan's wolf eyes allowed her to see the woods as if lit by a lamp. Her wolf form was getting taller, and lanky, her paws still much too big for her body.

After she'd found out about her proposed use of a spy, there was a very hurried year of cramming information. In that time the tide for the war had changed slightly, with the knowledge of the werewolves- but that didn't make them any less quick or fast healing. Faolan was taught mostly wild survival skills and acting from a Herald that had been part of a traveling group of players before he was Chosen, and she even talked to a few Heralds that already were spies. She worked ferociously at her Archery and the year had sped by- a blur of everyone giving her advice. And though six was still awfully young to be sent out in the field, the Heralds couldn't really afford to wait until she grew up- the war would be over by then. And, as the Queen knew when she gave Faolan her Heraldic Whites, Faolan was not just a six year old.

"Faolan!" she could hear Christopher shouting as if it were yesterday, and her ears twitched reflexively.

"Here, Alaska!" She had shouted back, deep within the Companion's Field.

The Companions were all there, gathered around in a solemn circle to see her off. She'd been given Whites that day, specially made to fit her size. She was the youngest Herald to ever be made, and Raul was proud. But those Whites were only worn once, for she left the capitol in disguise, riding a gray 'horse' and wearing a brown cloak. And even Raul had only gone so far, for what wandering seven year old werewolf would manage to have a horse?

An owl hooted from somewhere in the distance and Faolan paused, staring into the distance, remembering Alaska's face as she rode away in the predawn light, remembering the way Rathmir had hugged her that one last time, with the knowledge that they may never see each other again. But now they were gone, memories in her mind. It was the now that mattered. And she was alone. Raul… was too far away for contact. And so Faolan was alone in the way that she had not since the night she'd been bitten.

"Arroooooo!" she howled into the night, her voice high and lonely and searching, searching for her kin that ravaged the Valdemar lines. There was no answer. There had never been any answer, not in the long nights that she had searched. She was afraid to go too near the battle lines- Valdemarens were shooting every stray wolf that crossed their path now, and Faolan didn't want to run that risk. In fact, many people had expressly forbidden her from going anywhere near the fighting. So she stalked the borders, searching for werewolves. Until one night, she found them.

This night the moon was full, and Faolan was werewolf by force and not choice. She had paused to lap cold mountain water from a stream when she saw another reflection in the water beside her, in the form of a very large wolf.

A cold shiver of fear ran through her body and she slowly moved her head to look at the wolf standing a few feet away. His eyes were greenish yellow, and colder than ice. His fur was gray, darker on top and varying on his face, and he stood about three feet tall at the shoulder, with huge paws that sunk into the mud beside the stream. Faolan's nose twitched- he stank of werewolf and blood, but it was a rich stink, and Faolan found herself attracted to it. His tail stood tall and erect and proud, and when he turned around and began trotting through the woods, Faolan knew he meant her to follow.

So she did, the two of them moving silently through the mild night, Faolan moving at a quick lope to keep up with the older wolf's ground eating strides, her nose right at his tail. They moved for miles, winding through the mountains, over streams and across gullies until Faolan's paws ached and the horizon glowed from the coming of the sun. Yet he kept going, quicker now, for the moon too, hovered at the horizon. Doggedly, Faolan kept after him, stumbling in the haziness of the predawn light.

And then, he stopped, halting so quickly that Faolan almost bumped into him. She blinked tired eyes and looked up at the werewolf. He was standing very still, the only movement on him was the wind ruffling his fur. Faolan sat down and peered up at him, for there was nothing different about the place he'd stopped, though there was a nice view. They peered down over a valley, black in the morning and small.

But then he howled, lifting his head back, closing his eyes, and letting out a bone chilling sound that lifted from his mouth as if it were his soul, rising into a crescendo and wavering over the valley, sad and lonely. When it was done he stopped and looked out over the valley expectantly. And innumerous howls answered him, high and low, young and old, strong and weak, emerging from all corners of the valley. How many are there? Faolan wondered with awe as she listened to the unearthly chorus. And the wolf looked at Faolan, his greenish eyes now glowing with some sort of expectancy. So Faolan lifted up her head and howled, her voice high and puppyish but strong. And when she was done she looked back at the werewolf and could have sworn there was approval on his strong face.

That was when the moon disappeared. She felt it leave like one feels sun leave your face on a hot day, and it was as if her skin had suddenly become loose and prone to tearing, and she could just slip out of her werewolf form. But the older werewolf before her made no move to Change, so Faolan held onto her wolf self and followed him as he leapt down the rocks into the valley.

As they slipped through dark trees Faolan was suddenly aware that others were around them, slim dark shapes that sidled near them, just barely out of obvious sight. The fur on the back of her neck rose and fear threatened to run through her- for after all this searching she was finally in the holds of the enemy, those that would kill her if they knew her true identity. Raul… she thought forlornly, hoping the Companion would catch up now that she'd found the werewolves and could begin her true task. And play the Herald in black, she thought, The spy and the betrayer…

Then, just as suddenly as she noticed the other werewolves, she noticed that they threaded through what had to be a village. But the huts were made of living trees, and blended in, thick and secure. Amazed, she looked around, catching glimpses into homes where wolves writhed on the ground, pink skin pushing up out of fur and chewed bones mixed with carved bowls and soft skins of deer and elk.

They stopped once more in a clearing where in the center was a much larger home than those before, made of trees that had to have been saplings at the beginning of the war, and only that small if they had grown quickly. Sniffing the air, she realized they were willows and poplars, which were notorious for quick growing.

The werewolf moved inside the home, pushing past a door of stiff bear skin. Faolan slipped after him and found herself in a cool room, smelling of tree and blood and werewolf and human. The werewolf she'd followed was now changing back, his teeth tightly clenched as his claws changed into fingers. Faolan took this as a sign that she too, could change back, and this she did eagerly, wanting the use of a mouth to communicate with those who would steal Valdemar away.

"And where do you hale from, pup?" the now man asked, his accent foreign, almost as hairy as man as he was as a wolf, both of them naked as the days they were born. Faolan shivered.

"Valdemar," she whispered, looking up at him with wide blue eyes. He leaned down and threw a fur at her, dressing himself quickly in light leathers.

"I'll find some furs for you in a bit," he said, "When were you bit? By who?"

"When I was three," Faolan answered, pulling the large fur around her tightly, "He was black furred."

"And pray tell me"- he stopped as a woman roughly shoved in, saw Faolan and immediately descended upon her, growling soft words. She was burly and strong, dressed in man's leathers, but she cooed just as some of the Heralds had. Fao liked her, but she looked past her at the startled man as she was embraced by the woman.

"Excuse me…" the man tried to put in.

"Yes, you're excused to go," the she-werewolf growled, "The girl's no spy, she's one of us."

Well- at least they needed no convincing, Faolan thought wryly. There were uses to appearing seven years old.

The man- and now Faolan saw he really couldn't be older than eighteen, but his beard made him look older, stormed out, bowing to the woman's stronger will. When he was gone Fao turned her sky blue eyes upon she who'd rescued her from interrogation.

"Is everyone here a werewolf?" Faolan inquired softly, though she knew the answer, making her eyes wide and scared.

"They are, child," the woman smiled and gave her another hug, "You'll be safe here, you're among your own kind now."

Faolan returned the embrace, and thought of what could have happened to her back when she was bitten, and she thought of the childhood that'd she lost because of it, and let the tears slip from her eyes. Sometimes acting isn't just acting, Faolan thought.

"My parents…" she started to whimper, but the she-werewolf shushed her gently.

A little later Faolan was left alone in the room as the woman left to fetch some child sized clothing for Faolan to don. It was warm, and little clothing was needed, especially not of heavy leather. She wondered if they wore anything else, or if it was a werewolf tradition to only wear the skins of prey. Did they hunt, like wolves, in packs? Something deep in her blood perked up at that thought and Faolan shivered, pushing down her excitement- for the woman had spoken a few words of truth. As a werewolf, she was among her own kind, but she was also a Herald, and her true family was thousands of miles away, and dressed in white.

The woman returned with a tunic of soft leather that came to Faolan's knees and undergarments so thin and light Faolan wondered if they were sewn of mouse skins. The woman before her had long brown hair, thick, and tied back with a leather thong and there was dirt deep underneath her fingernails, and if Fao guessed right, there was probably more than dirt too.

"Now," she said, sitting down on the cool dirt floor. The sun was growing higher and higher and a thin light had made its way over the mountains to shine through the cracks around the bear skin door. Did they slay a bear? Faolan wondered, but the woman werewolf was continuing to speak.

"My name is Magdalia," she said, "I'm somewhat of the leader here. Discipline is key to living as a pack. All the werewolves in the world start from this pack and this blood. You say your sire was black?"

Faolan nodded after a pause, confused for a moment by the term 'sire'. She supposed most werewolves not born here would consider the one who'd made them their new father or mother. The woman- Magdalia, frowned at the ceiling.

"He had green eyes," she volunteered, although she didn't know if all werewolves had green eyes at night or if they kept their human colors. The fact that hers were blue as a wolf didn't tell her much- after all, didn't wolf pups all normally have blue eyes?

"Where were you bitten, child?" she finally asked, her eyes puzzled.

"Uh… I lived outside Dufret…" Faolan said hesitantly, playing uncertainty.

"Well inside Valdemar," she said with a satisfied smile, "And here I thought you were another war casualty. If you don't mind me asking- what happened to Markku? The wolf that bit you?"

"He… died," Faolan said slowly and guiltily, looking at her calloused feet, "Papa cut his head off with a sickle."

Magdalia winced and the nodded, "That would do it. Listen Faolan- take him as your first lesson. A werewolf alone and unable to control his change always dies, no matter how many he brings down with him. Markku was once a brother of the pack."

Faolan nodded, but inside she felt sick. The werewolf that had bit her had always been a crazy beast in her mind- but now he took the form of a person, a living human being that Raul had killed. She remembered, vaguely, hearing wolfish cries of pain… Markku, she thought, and then, I'm sorry. She looked out through the crack between the bear skin and tree, and felt the slight breeze coming in through it, and realized what had never occurred to her before- My enemies are human.