A violet-eyed, black-pelted man traveled over the terrain, seeking out the feminine call. He had fearsome bat wings whose membranes were feathered with those of a grey jay. A bone skull covered the male’s face, stretching back to encompass his neck, spine, and legs as well. He was a hulking, massive creature, and seemed to move with surprising ease and grace. He was traveling to Dawnshire, fixated on the call that had rippled to his audits from some unknown femme. The strong warrior couldn’t quite say what captivated him about that unknown summons, the wordless vocalization from an unknown woman. A woman in a position of power and strength. Draven, quiet man that he was, couldn’t stay solitary forever, and this enticing call was tempting him to follow. So, follow he did, and he wound up at the Dawnshire pack meeting. Many wolves had already shown up. Draven eyed them all. But his eyes inevitably came to linger on the Queen of Dawnshire, Esmae, though he knew not her name. He spoke, gruffly. “My name is Draven. I seek a pack.”


“& they will run you down, down till you fall!”