After the ceremony the whole island was buzzing.  I giant bon fire blazed in the center of the crystal white sands.  Wolves were plunging into the water, sharing kill, telling stories of their training days and of vicious battles, and warming their pelts by the fire.  Wynter was radiating excitement as much as the fire was radiating heat.  She bounced and skittered between my legs and barked, "What do we do now? Do we go hunting? Find some enemies? Stand guard?" A gave an amused laugh and said, "This is your ceremony. Just relax and have fun. Lets enjoy the ocean."  That was all she needed to hear before charging into the undulating waters.

Tonight was a special night.  Tonight the moon was half submerged in the sea, and so close we could swim up and touch it.  It was Pure Moon, called so because there were only two nights a year when the moon would meet the water, and one of those night the moon was crisp, clean and pure, and the other it had three ragged scars running down its face.  The scars were there because many years ago, our enemies, the crows lead a viscous attack.  You may think it silly that extra large wolves each having their own special powers would be troubled by crows, but they are super-sized too, and three times as menacing.  They have a wingspan of at least seventeen feet, and they've learned to line their talons and the hooks of their beaks with an invincible mix of harsh metals, and when the battle is important enough, with poison.  The night of the Battle of MoonScar was a calm peaceful night, after the island was drowsily asleep from too much kill and warm ocean waves.  That was the night of the second ceremony night, because before the moon was scarred, it was beautiful and pure, setting the aqua ripples of our ocean aglow twice a year. Even our guard, Tadewi, had fallen asleep.  It was my first teacher, Ember, who was at the time just barely a week old, who let out a spine-tingling cry that woke the island.  Sam emerged growling fiercely as the shadow of black wings crossed over the moon, casting demonic images on the shore scaring the cubs.  A long howl rang out across the sand and warriors lept from their dens snarling wand growling, the fire of hate aglow in their eyes.  The first attack came, spiraling down, plummeting into un-expecting wolves, bronze talons tearing at their necks, and some being carried high by teams of two crows and dropped with a sickening thud, splattering the white sand crimson.  The hackles rose on the remaining warriors necks as they assumed positions, readying themselves for the second line.  Soon enough, someone caught a glimpse of black in their peripheral vision, and leaped down from their position cracking down on the massive bird's wings, wrenching them up and snapping its neck.  Dark red blood that appeared almost black came sizzling down onto the sand.  The rest of the wolves followed her example, letting out ear splitting shrieks as they dropped on the enemy.  Tadewi had the last bird under his massive paws, but right before he made the final bite, another larger crow swooped down, hurtling him over onto his back.  The crow balanced himself on Tadewi's forepaws and with one shove of the wings, he cracked down, snapping the sandy warriors arms from their sockets, and with one poisoned talon, ripped down his chest from top to bottom, splitting him open.  Tadewi let one last horrifying screech out, as his final breath left him.  Flocks descended onto the fallen warrior, picking at his flesh and his eyes, cruel cold laughter sent shivers down the Pack's fur.  The icy cold in their pelts turned to blazing heat.  They unleashed their full power.  Those with a power for water rose waves and with the smash of their paws on the beach the wave crashed down, killing dozens of crows.  Earth wolves retreated into the woods, where a few minutes later vines shot out at light speed, wrapping so tightly around the crows it cut and suffocated them, blackish blood sprinkled the ground as they were dragged into the forrest.  Those with a power for fire had little power since the sun was hidden, but drew what they could from the moon and the heat of the battle.  But it wasn't enough.  Wolves were laying everywhere where they had fallen, not moving from their own puddle of scarlet.  Cries of pain from both sides filled the air, sending terror to the inhabitants of the forrest.  Slowly creeping from her hiding place, a golden cub, not much older than Ember emerged.  She had a fixed gaze of determination on her tiny face, despite the fear coming off her in waves.  She took a deep breath and rushed forward, darting through the thickening battle, only occasionally slipping in blood.  Orial dared not look who's blood it was, for she knew it would only discourage her.  When she was smack in the middle, Orial let out the most terrifying and beautiful howl, quieting the beach.  The ground shook, and the earth opened up, encasing crows in its depths.  Waves washed over the field, dragging crows to their watery graves and cleansing the bloodied warriors.      The remaining crows turned to flee, but the biggest one and the leader, Razorbeak, led his gruesome warriors arround the moon, slicing their steel and bronze poisoned talons across the shining silver surface, leaving three ragged scars.  The sky gave the last protest, and mighty thunder burst the ebony warriors eardrums sending them plumiting into the hungry sea, before the lighting set fire to the rest.  About seventy escaped along with Razorbeak, but the battle was over.  Orial collapsed in the clearing, her body glowing gold.  Sam came forward and touched her body, which was still radiating the sun's golden light.  "Orial means the Golden One," his mighty voice rippled over the stunned battlefield, "She has brought light to the Pack.  She was the one of all affinities."  He scooped up the limp body, which was now dimming, and carried it to her sobbing mother.  The Pack dispearsed to clean their wounds ans clear bodies, and that was known forever as the battle of MoonScar.  Even to this day, people and wolves alike hear the sad moan of Tawedi, but the mortals claim it as the howling wind.  But the Native Americans know as well as we do, Tadewi, pronounced Tah- Deh- Weh, means Wind.

That night after we'd stuffed ourselves with all the kill we could eat, and dried our fur by the fire, I gazed up to the Pure Moon and gave silent thanks to the brave Tadewi and Orial, for being such brave and true warriors of the Sunset Pack.