The territory of the Howling Moon Clan was shrouded in the night.
Russell stood on the rocky platform of Crescent Valley, with patches of gray intermingled in his blue-gray mane.
The lifespan of gray-haired werewolves is not long, only about fifty years.
Six years have passed, pushing this once youthful chieftain into middle age. His fur is not as vibrant as it once was, but his eyes remain sharp as knives.
In the valley, the werewolf warriors were resting.
They carried both old and new scars, so left by ogres and others by hunting and internal conflicts.
Russell was acutely aware that dissatisfaction was growing within the clan.
The young challenger Zong Fire had publicly questioned his decisions more than once at gatherings, and the Elder Shaman, over sixty, was nearing the end of his life. His mind grew increasingly muddled, and he no longer stabilized the clan’s hearts as he used to.
Howl! A low wolf howl echoed from afar.
The patrol team had returned.
Russell leaped down from the valley slope and swiftly returned to the territory below, engaging with the patrol team to understand the situation.
The news they brought back was not optimistic.
The ogres from the Bone-Chewing Clan were still expanding and could threaten Crescent Valley again at any mont.
Russell silently exhaled.
He looked up at the night sky, as if waiting for sothing.
Six years ago, the Dragon Lord promised to return, but ti was wearing down the clan’s patience. So clan mbers had forgotten the dragon’s strength, and there were differing voices within the clan.
Russell strolled through the territory.
At the fire pit deep within the territory, several werewolf warriors who had just finished patrol were tearing at a prey’s leg at, with oil dripping onto the coals, making a sizzling sound.
"Zong Fire provoked the chieftain at the training ground again today."
A young werewolf warrior spat out bone fragnts, lowered his voice, and said, "In front of everyone, he clawed half of the chieftain’s record totem carved on the rock wall."
Zong Fire, the werewolf, whose parents opposed allegiance to the Dragon Race and were defeated by Russell, turning into giant wolves.
Thus.
Zong Fire resented Russell.
After six years of growth, this sowhat talented werewolf youth beca the strongest of the new generation, no longer hiding his hostility towards the chieftain, wanting to challenge his position.
The old warrior sneered, revealing his missing fangs.
"Zong Fire was scared to death by a venomous snake six years ago, only daring to hide behind his mother. Now he dares to point at the chieftain’s claws."
"But the chieftain truly has aged." A female werewolf whispered, her ears rotating vigilantly.
"During the hunt for rock bulls last ti, the chieftain’s charge was half a beat slow. If Frost Fang hadn’t tily supplented with magic, the prey would have escaped."
The fire crackled and popped.
Russell’s figure appeared on the other side, and the young werewolf warriors tucked their heads and dared not respond.
Walking past the warriors, Russell seed not to have heard anything, heading straight to a stone house beside the cliff.
Around a bonfire.
Zong Fire and three confidants were sharing a freshly hunted mountain pig.
The raw at still stead and was torn into bloody strips by sharp teeth, consud without roasting or cooking. The young werewolf warriors preferred fresh at.
Zong Fire was a tall and strongly built werewolf.
Among his blue-gray mane, there were traces of red, and when it fluttered in the wind, it resembled a fiery blaze, hence his nickna.
Gnawing at fresh at, Zong Fire’s gaze fell on Chieftain Russell, watching him enter the Elder Shaman’s hut.
"The old guy’s prestige is weakening; last hunt almost let the prey escape."
Zong Fire licked the blood on his paws, his fur intermittently brightened and dimd in the firelight, saying, "His claws are no longer sharper than mine, nor is his body stronger."
The werewolf with a scar whispered, "The chieftain has been frequently visiting the shaman’s hut lately; is he preparing so ritual to enhance himself?"
Zong Fire slapped into the cliff wall, causing rubble to fall:
"The shaman has already lost his mind, incapable of granting him any enhancent."
"At the next full moon festival, I will challenge Russell before the entire clan." He revealed his stark white fangs, "Then I will beco the new chieftain of the Howling Moon Clan!"
The Elder Shaman was nearing death.
The chosen successor, Frost Fang, Russell’s daughter, was currently a tender young shaman, lacking the Elder Shaman’s prestige, posing no threat to him.
Zong Fire was determined.
He must replace Russell.
Russell gently brushed aside the beast-hide curtain hanging at the stone house entrance, greeted by a rush of herbal and rotting scents.
The Elder Shaman’s hut was darker than it had been six years ago.
He was curled up on the bed in the corner, nearly rging with the shadows.
Beside him sat a slightly smaller female werewolf, her teeth bright and white, her mane braided into small plaits, adorned with a beast bone necklace around her neck.
Frost Fang Belinda, Russell’s daughter and the shaman’s successor.
She patiently grood the Elder Shaman’s fur, patiently plucking fleas, stopping upon her father’s arrival and retreating outside.
Upon hearing footsteps, the Elder Shaman’s murky yellow eyes slowly rotated, his pupils clouded, lifeless.
"Russell...... you........ have co......."
The Elder Shaman’s voice ca as if squeezed from a leaking skin, slow and rough with a phlegmy rasp.
Russell nodded and silently sat by the fire pit.
Six years ago, this stone house was the most sacred place in the clan. The Elder Shaman’s prophecies accurately predicted the hour of rain season’s arrival.
Now, the fire pit held only thin branches, even the firelight seed sickly.
"I can barely suppress Zong Fire anymore."
Russell sighed, a hint of fatigue in his brow as he spoke, "He’s gifted and grows fast, while I’ve passed my peak."
Zong Fire’s nature was ruthless, vengeful, lacking the breadth and vision to lead the clan.
As a warrior, he was excellent, but if he beca chieftain, it would spell disaster for the Howling Moon Clan. Yet the clan revered strength, and if Zong Fire defeated him through formal challenges, he couldn’t prevent him from becoming chieftain.
"It’s fine...... Dragon Lord...... is soon...... returning."
A smile flickered in the Elder Shaman’s murky eyes as he spoke.
Russell paused slightly, newfound vitality entering his gaze, "Is this true? Can you be sure?"
The Elder Shaman seed rejuvenated, coughing lightly before his voice beca clear and continuous.
"My life is nearing its end, but perhaps due to the Ancestral Spirit’s blessings, I glimpsed a bit of the future."
"What future?"
Russell asked.
The Elder Shaman did not answer.
The future is not fixed, revealing prophecies could bring backlash to both himself and those who hear them, altering the future.
Every caster or shaman proficient in prophetic art was an excellent keeper of secrets.
The Elder Shaman raised his emaciated claw, gripping Russell’s arm tightly, speaking word by word, "You must, must follow the Dragon Lord! No matter what happens, your loyalty must not waver! This is the most crucial opportunity for the Howling Moon Clan."
Russell nodded solemnly, then watched as the Elder Shaman slowly closed his eyes.
He felt a sense of grief, sadness.
This revered elder was leaving....... snoring interrupted Russell’s lancholy.
It turned out he had rely fallen into a deep sleep, not passed away.
The old werewolf feared cold, Russell tucked the blanket around the Elder Shaman.
Boom!
Suddenly, a dull roar of thunder approached from afar.
Like the breath of a giant beast or the sound of flapping wings.
The just-closed eyes of the Elder Shaman abruptly opened again, clear of murkiness. Russell, montarily stunned, quickly grew excited.
This rolling thunder-like sound, the recent newborns don’t understand its aning.
But Russell and the Elder Shaman were very familiar with it.
"Help up!"
The Elder Shaman supported his body, speaking.
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