Moonspear It can never be that war shall preserve life, and peace destroy it.

All that wailsome talk of broken limbs and the time it took to recover was nothing more than the charming words of an unfamiliar shape. Atlas was not swayed by the mournful expression on the slate wolf’s features. He was not moved by the remark of family and raising pups. To the shade of the mountain, it seemed as though this wolf was nothing more than a sad shell of what could have been an unstoppable force – a waste of potential.
 
“Pity.”
 
The dark wolf’s voice seemed laced with a smugness that could not have been pinned down. When the other turned to leave, there was no attempt to stop him. Atlas had no more interest in the strange and sad figure who had come to the edge of their claim. He no longer belonged to the mountain, so he was better off leaving.