The Storm of Warcania

Prologue

Storm was tired but he had to keep running. The full moon illuminated the world around him, obscured only by the occasional oak, maple, or pine tree. The night was silent and if he focused beyond the sound of his own running paws slapping the cold hard ground and the increasing heft of his panting, he could hear the pack of wolves behind him. Their sound carried far in the frosty still night air. He could hear their large paws breaking twigs and crunching dried leaves and pine needles. Unlike him they did not make the effort to be quiet, to leave no sign, to move undetected. They ran hard, fixated on tracking him down.

Regularly, Storm would trick the pack, by making sharp turns in areas he didn't leave paw prints. They would continue straight after he concealed a turn and changed his direction. But then they would spread out to pick up his trail. And once one of the wolves did, they would howl for the others to join. Then it was on again, and the pack raced after him, determined to hunt him down and punish him.

Running through a field of dormant grass pressed flat against the hard ground, he spotted an area where the trees grew closer together and cloaked the ground in dark shadows. The Dark Woods. He never dared go into those woods before and it was the limit of his known world. There were tales of terrible horrors that lived in the shadows of that place. But it couldn't be worse than the certain death he faced if his pursuers caught him.

He sped up to reach the woods before the pack made it to the clearing and saw where he had gone. He flew over a fallen log and landed fifteen feet into the dark shadows. He knew his eyes would reflect any light and give away his location, so he squinted and through slit eyelids, watched as the pack entered the clearing one at a time. They slowed to a walk sniffing the ground and looking for any sign indicating which way Storm had run. "This will buy me some time," Storm thought as he tried to catch his breath.

Turning inwards towards the ever increasingly dense woods, he tried to make out any of its features, but saw only darkness. Storm sniffed the air and smelled rot, mold, decay, and death. At least those smells would mask his own scent. He didn't like this place. But he preferred it to being hunted by a pack of wolves' intent on killing him. He cautiously began moving deeper into the forest. Each step blotted out more and more light and limited his extraordinary sight. The dead smells were all around him, not just masking his smell, but masking the smells of other things, making him vulnerable to attacks from predators. But he had to keep moving. Even if the pack didn't follow him into the forest, they could circle around the forest and ambush him on the other side. He needed to move. Move fast.

The woods were full of hazards. Logs that tripped, branches that snagged, and thorns that punctured. Storm was moving at a careful run, and would intermittently get battered, bruised, and scratched by those impediments. To make things worse he could hear the inhabitants of the forest moving around him. A quick scurry of little legs, a flutter of wings and occasionally the sound of a large something breaking brush. Each unnerving sound of a large something that came to Storm's ears drove him to increase his speed. Soon he was running in a full out sprint, ignoring the pain in his lungs and only focused on the stampede of monsters moving through the blackness to swallow him up. He stretched out his stride trying to differentiate the dark space from the darker obstacles. He dashed between the tree trunks, around the rocks and over the logs. He was panic driven. The monsters were almost on him.

He could feel them on his tail with their sharp fangs getting ready to bite down on his hind legs. It drove him faster and faster.

Then he saw a spot of gray in front of him. It had to be the edge of the forest. He was almost there, but then he realized he couldn't tell how far away the patch of gray was. Storm did not want to get eaten so close to safety. He had to get out into the moonlight before these unthinkably evil ghouls and goblins caught him. He pushed himself harder and his legs moved faster. The gray spot was getting bigger. He was almost there. It was there, the edge of the forest, he was almost out. Then, the gray spot began to shrink. It confused him, until he realized it was his vision that was shrinking. The darkness wouldn't let him escape. It closed over the gray, down to a pinprick and then it was all gone. He had been devoured by the pitch black.

He continued to run blind until is front paw struck something hard and Storm tumbled forward, flailing and rolling until he slammed into a rock. He opened his eyes and realized he was in the moonlight again. He looked back and observed that he had tripped over a cap rock and slammed into a large boulder. The massive boulder was egg shaped and sat in front of similar sized boulders. He was lying underneath some chaparral that had grown out of a crack in the cap rock and slightly concealed his position. It would not be enough to hide him from the forest monsters or the pack of angry wolves that could appear at any moment, but he was too tired to move.

Storm panted heavily. He was exhausted. He had never run that far or that fast before in his young life. He noticed the steam of his breath was gone, and it was not that cold anymore – weird. After a few moments he lifted his head and began to look around. He looked back in the direction he had come and was caught by surprise. The forest wasn't there. No dark woods, barely any large trees at all. The moonlight shown down on a field of odd, malnourished trees. He didn't recognize most of them except for a few pine trees and what looked like a grove of cottonwoods. To the north there was a pine forest, but it was too far to be the edge of the Dark Woods.

He looked up at the moon. It was in roughly the same position it had been when he had fled – or maybe it wasn't. He had been running for his life, and maybe he bumped his head when he tripped. If only the sun were out, he could see how far from the Death Mountains he was - they were his know location that he commonly based where he was off. The star constellations were in the wrong places too. It was as if they had been pushed to the north. He had been running south, but...this was really weird.

As he contemplated this most recent mystery, energy returned to Storm's legs. He stood up and sniffed the air. The smell of decay was gone. He could smell dry and exotic things. Strange fruity and nutty smells, and something pleasant. He smelt it on his mother once. She had called it lavender.

He looked around the closest boulder and noticed a break behind the tree. A break wide enough to fit through. He decided to err on the side of caution and inspect his immediate surroundings, stepping between the space. Once through he noticed the boulders concealed a well-worn and potentially ancient footpath. Curious, he moved forward. Wolves didn't like enclosed spaces. If the pack found this path, they most likely wouldn't enter.

The path was enclosed on either side by tall steep rock walls. It didn't branch and remained relatively straight. After a long while of walking, Storm climbed over a slight rise in the path and noticed the path led into a small black cave. He looked back but could only see a portion of the distance he had travelled. In any case, he had gone too far on the path to turn around now. Regardless of the distance he travelled from the woods to the boulder, the wolf pack that was hunting him could easily of reached the path entrance by the time he retraced his steps. He decided to enter the cave.

Inside, the narrow cave was warm and the rock walls smooth. Again, he was in darkness. Dark, dark. Impossible to see dark. "Really dark," Storm corrected himself. "Were those same forest monsters hiding in here as well?" He pushed the question out of his head. Fear was a distraction – and he was ashamed how scared he'd been in the forest. He had to move and hide, or he would risk getting caught. He needed to be focused. He wouldn't be afraid.

He took a feeling step forward and felt the cool rock under his paw. After a short distance he stopped. He sensed something new. He slowly stepped forward and sniffed the air. He smelled strange spices mingled with familiar smells. Wild onions, apples, and roasted pork. His hungry stomach grumbled. Less afraid and more curious, Storm moved forward. He noticed a bend in the cave and that eclipsed a sliver of light. Around the bend he saw that the cave had led to a hallway. A hallway composed of cut stone blocks that was lit by candles and had a tapestry on the wall. That tapestry had a crest for... "Woodland Academy," he read. "A school?"

Storm stared in disbelief at the oddity. He was ready for most things but had not expected this. He had heard about Woodland Academy. It was a famous school for smart, wealthy wolf pups. Wolf pups from the United Clans of Warcania. It was supposed to be far away from the Death Mountains. Far from the independent wolf clans. How had he gotten there? It was too much, and he was drained. Finally, feeling somewhat safe, he succumbed to exhaustion and collapsed asleep.