A/N: Ice cream to all those who reviewed the last chapter! Happy middle of summer break!

Faolan didn't notice her eyes were wet until a tear dropped down from her half shut eyes onto her leg, making a wet splash. She blinked rapidly then, her surroundings coming back to her, and she rubbed the dampness from her eyes. The pack is based on war, she thought sadly, It cannot survive without it…How can that be? How can such a love, of a pack of werewolves, be fueled by murder?

"Faolan?" a voice said, and Fao looked up, to find Skylar standing above her, looking worried.

"Yes?" she asked, taking a deep breath and hoping he hadn't noticed her crying.

"Can I have a word?" he asked and Faolan quickly nodded, standing up and letting him take her hand to lead her through the crowd and away.

"Are you okay?" he asked, when they were a safe distance from the pack.

"Yes," Faolan nodded, trying to look okay.

"I don't believe you," he said with a teasing smile, "Is it our origin?"

Faolan shook her head and then said slowly, "It's… how- isn't there another way?"

"Towards control?" Skylar asked and at the look in Faolan's face he knew that was it, "No. There isn't. For a werewolf to reach true anger within the pack… is very detrimental… Only on a battlefield can that be reached with a place to target the anger."

"How can you murder innocents, though?" Faolan ask, "You said yourself you don't care about the Karsites of Valdemarens! How can you fight their battle for them, holding no grudge against those you kill, in fighting?"

"That's how the true control is reached," Skylar explained, and then knelt down, to look Faolan directly in the eye, "It is hard at first, but we don't start newbies out on the front lines. However… once you see a Valdemaren arrow go through your best friend's throat… It gets a little easier. That's what spurs the true anger. I…"

Skylar paused, his voice choking, and Faolan looked at him questioningly until he continued, "I reached control on the front lines, three years ago. I was fifteen. It was my first real fight, before that I'd been scouting, back up, skirmishing, no true battle. I was scared, and confused about what I was doing and why I was there. I wasn't born a werewolf Faolan… It's always easier for those born into the pack. Anyway, it was my best friend. He'd found me, taught me what it was to be a werewolf, took me away from the blind rage of one with no one else. We were fighting together and… I really loved him Faolan. And then I saw… one of those blue and silver painted arrows sink into his throat. And he was dead- like that. I looked into his eyes as it happened, and saw the life leave him. I saw him die. And even though we chose to fight, I could see the Archer that had released that arrow, standing in a tree- it was winter- about a hundred feet away. He was cheering. And I knew it should have been me to take that arrow, because Remi was a better person than I was, a better werewolf. He deserved to live… while myself… No one needed me. And I lost it. I went crazy. Anyone in my way towards that tree died. I wielded a sword, broadsword, a huge one- I don't have it any more, no need. The weapons stay with those on the front, but I wielded it like a mace. Tore through soldiers like butter. Blood was everywhere. It was on my skin, in my eyes, up my nose, and I reveled in it. I saw red- and not just from the blood of those I killed. I enjoyed it, because I was killing those who had killed Reims. And when I reached that tree I scaled it like a monkey, sword in one hand the entire time, and I sliced that archer's head off. Sent it rolling. With glee. The anger faded after that, but I will always remember that feeling. That joy was a joy of killing, it was born of true anger, Faolan. The primal, terrible anger that tore the first wolves apart because they had never developed any control. Once you've built you're control, and you reach that stage- you can never go there again except by your own choice. You'll never lose it- you're incapable. And that is what is needed in order to live as a pack, to live the way we were meant to live. Those who waste their time mourning their humanity, hating the Mage Storms and the mages who created it… they never truly live." And Skylar looked straight and Faolan and said, "Which do you want, Faolan- life, or death?"

"Life," Faolan whispered, staring into Skylar's dark eyes.

"I thought so," he said with a half smile and stood up, "Now… how about that Initiation of yours?"

Faolan nodded, giving him a smile too, and followed him back into camp. The moon was almost risen once again, and Faolan could feel it even stronger than the night before, because tonight was the true full moon. Everyone had settled down and Skylar led Faolan to stand by the empty fire pit, in the center of the group of Heralds, a place Faolan found uncomfortable, as all eyes were on her.

"Tonight," Skylar said, his voice ringing out over the werewolves, "One more werewolf joins our stead, to be a pack mate, sister, mother, and daughter. Tonight, we welcome her to join the pack!"

There was a cheer and even a human howl or two, but once more, everyone quickly grew silent and eyes flickered between Faolan and Skylar. The leader's eyes were on the horizon, where a faint light could be detected now, growing brighter. Faolan felt a shiver go through her as she realized what it was, but whether it was one of excitement or fear, she could not tell. The other light was dimming and Faolan was beginning to have trouble seeing with her weak, human eyes.

"Let the moonlight fill you, Faolan," Skylar said a moment later, and the pack echoed his words.

"And join us in the hunt," he added, and the pack, again echoed this.

Then the first tip of the moon lifted itself up over the horizon and Faolan felt it's pull become too strong to fight, so she succumbed, falling to its power, and, as Skylar had said, letting it fill her. It hurt, as it always had, but not as much, more like a healing wound- as that, a good hurt. As Faolan's eyesight shifted to black and white and she saw the werewolves around her, she noticed none had yet Changed. Were they holding back? Was that possible? No- a few were changing, but most stood, watching her. Faolan dropped onto four paws and pulled herself out of her clothing and looked up at Skylar. He stood, still human, but Faolan noticed sweat ran down his face and dripped off his chin. She growled, and he dropped into the Change, turning to wolf faster than she'd ever seen before. Around her, growls and barks told her that the others were changing as well.

Once again though, they fell silent, and a new ring was formed, one of wolves. Skylar stood the biggest and as Faolan bowed her head low, looking up at him, he stepped forward and then suddenly lifted a paw and in a swift movement, pushed her to the ground. His paw pressed into her shoulder, such that her opposite shoulder dug into the dirt. His eyes seemed to glow with a supernatural malice and Faolan whimpered in surprise. A low, terrible growl slowly emerged from his throat and for a terrifying second Faolan thought he meant to kill her. But then he lifted his paw and simply stood over her, looking her down, and Faolan rolled off her side onto her back and wagged her tail hopefully.

And then Skylar stepped back and lowered his head to her. At this, Faolan scrambled back to her feet and stood, as square and tall as she could, her tail raised now. After a moment, Skylar raised his head again and lifted his nose to the starlit sky, letting out a long, terrific, howl, that was joined by all the howls of the pack. Lastly, Faolan let out her own howl, joining it with those whom she could now call pack mates.

Then they ran. Fleeting shapes, dashing through the woods. The big, gray wolf that was Skylar led, dashing through trees, and all moved as one. It seemed to Faolan they ran all night, leaping logs and creeks, ditches and crevices, climbing peaks and tumbling into valleys until at long last they reached the village once more, in their own valley, as the sun crept over the horizon and the moon sunk towards it. It felt like a dream, as Faolan slunk through with all the rest, panting and tired. She never remembered changing back.