PROLOGUE | Part Two : The Wolf

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He had seen much darker nights than this one. The oil-thick sky was coated in shimmering white stars. Hanging in the center, the pupil of the monster's eye, was a full silver moon. It cast glittering light tears down upon the rambunctious seaside town of Talak'toma.

Snow fell in flakes as big as the stolen golden coins passing along the streets of Shemesh on the opposite coast, a currency that he was very familiar with considering how many purses of it he had stashed on the interior of his billowing cloak. The frost tumbled in on the north winds, coming along the gulf on the ocean's current so that even a territory as south as Karcho could experience the winds born in the Speir tundra.

But much more than flurries was coming in from the bay that night. Flowing up from the water's edge was the ruckus of a hundred voices tangled into song and laughter. Half-blooded pirates, Faunish fishermen, honorable sailors, and less than honorable traders. All from the furthest corners of the globe, and all mixed above the Southern Sea.

Until the sunrise, they'd put aside their differences to celebrate with coffers full of gems and chalices full of cheile, a drink they only shared in moments such as this one. When they had something to cheer about; the slaying of a water Beast. The streets were buzzing with the news. Five hours ago, as the moon had just begun to rise, the crew of the Acushla had slaughtered another.

As soon as the crow carrying the proof of death, the front left fang of the serpent, had landed in the town square the truce had been called, and the drinks poured. And now they danced, right atop the bloodied pink waters.

They danced from boat deck to boat deck, leaping across great expanses of choppy sea to board another's vessel, where they were joyously pulled into the fray of drinking, dancing, swearing and gambling.

Ships swayed on the rising tide, making music where their wooden hulls scraped against the docks.

Their many squabbles were uncountable. But they shared the same blood. It was white with seafoam and tough with salt. It was their love for the dangers lurking beneath the sea. And he, covered in his woolen cloak, nearly couldn't stand the water.

He knew if he was discovered, they'd be on him in seconds with dulled and rusty rope-knives. Despite his sense of humor about it, it had nothing to do with his horrible case of sea-sickness. Because there was something in his blood. And it was not passion for pirating. He hoped, for just a few hours more, that they would not notice.

He knew this was his only chance. When they were drunk on good spirits and, well, more spirits.

The newcomer tried to suppress his flinch as frozen flakes kissed the bare flesh of his flushed cheeks. In the end, he surrendered to that cold. He pulled his cloak higher onto his head and tightened the hood over his shoulder-length coils. He would have to hide himself anyway, he consoled. He could consider himself lucky, then. On such a frosty night, he wouldn't stick out in his heavy woolen covering. 

He adjusted his brown cloth clothes tighter over his face, brushing his fingertips against the three pink lines dripping from the edge of his jaw. He followed them to where they disappeared into his collar, splaying out across his clavicle. He could still remember how it had felt--the claws digging into his throat, determined to tear it out. He pulled on his simple spun clothes until the scars vanished beneath it.

He cast one more glance at the full silver moon, and at where it hung in the peak of the night's sky. It was time. He slipped away from his perch over the port and tossed himself into the busy cobblestone streets. Talak'toma was overflowing that night. It was easy for one more hooded figure to meld into the shouting and swaying crowds. He knew it would be--he knew it was his only chance.

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