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Time: Before Week 1

Guts rolled out a large map of Pennsylvania out on the conference table. In addition to all the usual iconography of maps, roadways, waterways, and the like, it also had lines that divided the state into territories. He extended a metal pointer. “This is what we’re looking at.” A large section of the state, with Penn State University as its epicenter, “This, as we all well know is the Lost Ground, corrupted by the hands of the Uncounted One. It is still a Wound and therefore represents the greatest danger to our lands.” The pointer touched a large section west of the Wound, “Though their numbers were equally hurt, I think it would be safe to say that this area is in still in the hands of our savage Pure neighbors.” He moved the pointer north of the Poconos, “Also despite their losses, the Dreamers of the Burning Sickle still hold a vice grip on the Scranton area. Their numbers have been thinned, but I suspect the family only sent some of their weaker members to aid in the Crusade.” Guts then noted the lines highlighted in red, “These are the major roadways that we’ve allowed the Ardent Spirits to use as reward for their part. I think that I don’t need to remind everyone how useful they were in preparing for the engagement.” He looked to his alpha, “We have enough Uratha to generate five more packs, six if you want to grant the request of the Cold Howlers.”

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Time: Before Week 1

“So where are we at?” Brother Silence asked hoarsely as he returned with a carboard tray of Starbucks’ coffee.

Claymore reached for her Venti Mocha Latte, checking the sticker to see if they had added the double shot of espresso that she had asked for. “Thanks,” she sighed after she took a sip. One of the great blessings of Father Wolf was great stamina, but this research and debate was getting a bit tiring. Still, Storm Lords were forbidden to show any weakness and she wouldn’t be the one to ask for recess. “We’ve got all the definite yays and and the definte nays. We’ve been working through all the maybes.”

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Time: Before Week 1

Dawn was cresting over the mountains. The sun revealed them, with their multitude of pines and hardwoods, verdant in leaves. Alex Heart-Drinker took a deep breath of the crisp air, still cool at this hour. It always helped to be reminded why she was doing all this. Her mountains stretched before her vision. The Lost Ground would only fester and grow if left alone, the landscape would be corrupted by its putrescence. She watched the light play with the dew, some of it already turning to mist. She and the others had worked hard and sacrificed much to maintain their lands, to maintain much of its wildness while cultivating the herd of humanity. She gave a brief smile to the landscape, acknowledging it as a ruler to a particularly useful servant.

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Time: Before Week 1

Justine Iron-Binder of the Gatekeepers pack turned the talisman over in her hands. Her grandson had done well in the carving of it. All the edges had been smoothed with the right tools, tools that had been prepared under the light of the crescent moon. The grains in the wood had been worked with the correct oils. Even in her human form, Iron-Binder could smell the Lemon Blossom oil, for clarity, and the Sandalwood, for heightening the senses. The talisman, carved in the shape of the animal itself, would provide an excellent home for the Bloodhound Spirit.

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Time: Before Week 1

Chuck was immune to the riotous din in the Horsemen. He didn’t register the Hounds of Hell chanting out, “Tits! Tits!” as the whores put on a show, pouring pitchers over thin white shirts. His focus was on a piece of paper emblazoned with the Belle Grade Correctional Institution letterhead. He took a deep drink from his tumbler. Probably needs more sugarcane, he thought as he swallowed his latest batch of Jacked Pirate Rum.

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Time: Before Week 1

Alex Heart-Drinker put down the scroll on the glass conference table and rubbed her eyes,

a plague green sky, raining down acidic death

“I need some air.” Even with Toth-Culthos destroyed, the vision remained. She felt others of theMountain Laurel Legion watch her walk onto the balcony that overlooked the bulk of their hard won territory. It still hurt to walk without the cane, but she needed to show that she was still strong, that she could still lead.

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Time: Before Week 1

“Tol’ you we’d be back, Monkey,” Gator spoke in his low Cajun drawl while rubbing Ed’s head like he was petting his best dog, “nothing but a t’ing”. As his large packmate grabbed a lager, the cold light revealed deep cuts in his side, healing, but still an angry, hot red.

Bruce bowed as he placed his katana back on its stand, “Yo, bro, how come nothing’s cooking?”

“No food?” Ali walked in, “Man, DogMonkey, you are a waste.” She smiled, which made DogMonkey smile.

“Let it be, sis,” Kate slapped her sister’s head as she stepped out from behind her. “He’s not your slave. You’ve got two hands, make your own dinner.”

“Though a bath would be nice. Edward, dear, could you do that for me?” Evenstar’s form was silhouetted in the door frame.

DogMonkey’s eyes teared, “Mama?” He had been so worried that the pack would not return from Gemstone’s mad plan to attack the Uncounted One head on. They had survived. They had come back to him just like they had promised. “Mama!” He ran to her and she enveloped him in her arms. She was so warm, so full of life. “Mama,” he said a third time, his warm tears being absorbed by her soft skin. They were home.

A Drop of Rain

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Time: During Week 12

David flicked the last few drops from his penis and flushed his toilet. “God damn, Dave,” he spoke to himself, “sure pissing like a racehorse today.” He shook his head and briefly thought again about going to Mount Pleasant to get checked out. “No, Dave, gotta stay smart, gotta stay cool. That’s just what THEY want. THEY want you out of your house. THEY want you where THEY can get you.” Besides, he thought, hadn’t THEY almost gotten Steph at the hospital? The bits he had heard from the doctor’s message on his voice mail and accounts the pizza boy from Magliore’s suggested that a crazy nurse had torn up Steph’s throat pretending to take a fishbone from there. A simple procedure by the doctor’s account, but the bitch nurse had caused serious damage. Luckily, the doctor had shown up and that nurse was frightened into doing her job.

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The group of werewolves began to travel to the Shadow location of Lake Hammond, still unsure of what to expect. Were they going to be able to talk to the spirit of Cooksfield, or would they have to fight it into submission? These thoughts raced through them as they raced northward in the realm of the spirits.

Miles into their journey, Cain’s ears flicked forward catching the sounds of battle. Ken joined him and they slunk towards the sound of the fray. It was not just some argument that they had chanced upon, but a full battle for supremacy of the land. Huge dump trucks sporting metal tusks roared their heavy diesel engines at thick-trunked trees. The trees swung their mighty branches, their roots tore at the ground beneath their enemies tires.

Photo is taken from here.

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