Makya had sat down, but this would be the last few times he would sit down in the damp ground of the mountain he lived in. He had gathered his staff, and his balms, his medical herbs. He grinned them together, with his paws. A bowl, of paint, lay near his staff. This would be the last time he and his fellow werewolves were to hunt in the Tangled Wood, before their move to the Great Furnace.
He spoke of incantations, before his eyes looked upwards, to see a large Imperial of similar colours, removing their armor.
“Ah, mother. Are you going without armor for this last hunt?” He spoke calmly. The larger imperial only replied with a soft laugh. “Of course, Makya. It will be the last time with our allies, the Wendigos. Shall I get the others?” “Yes, mother. I do, after all, have to mark all of you. I also must bless us all, for this last hunt with our dear allies.” Makya replied, returning to mixing the paint together. He started applying it to his face, and to his arms and legs. “Soon,” he thought, “Soon, this hunt will be the most grandest.”
The others had arrived. Many removed their apparel, in respect. Connor stood there, watching on. Sayuri nuzzled Connor’s neck with her muzzle. “Are you not joining us, Connor?” Sayuri asked, looking at her mate in the eyes. “I’m afraid I can’t. I have business to attend to with the move. Armin and Ezio, however, will join you.” Connor said, with a long sigh. “But, I will stay a little, to wish you well on this hunt.” He said cooly.
A few minutes later, all of the werewolves were ready. Connor bowed to them, and spoke. “With the heat of the moment, and with a Heart of Fire, may the deities bless you with a splendour hunt!”