I am use to being alone. I was told to not wander the den unless given permission. I do not question my Mother. She is above me and so I must follow what she says. Sometimes I am rewarded with a fresh meal, or a new lesson, but if I am ever lucky she will allow me to wander along Iromar on my own. I love the sense of freedom and to know that I have it, because I deserve it, it only tastes sweeter. My Mother works like a clock. She gets up every day at the same time, eats at the same time, and sleeps at the same time. Sometimes she changes up what she does in between. Sometimes she’ll take me to the outsiders’ lands and show me around, maybe teach me how to properly catch a fish or stalk prey. Sometimes we play hide and go seek, only in this particular game I am to follow a prey’s scent, point to Mother and allow her to go for the kill. Apparently this is supposed to teach me teamwork, but also how to follow my nose and read tracks. It is fun. Sometimes. There are times when I get distracted and follow an old dead scent that does not lead us to prey, so then I am punished, and reminded that my inability to do something right the first time may cost me my very life. I obey and accept what she says, for she is right and she is my Mother.

Today she allowed me to be outside the den. I am not far away. I like being close. I do not know much about the pack I am supposed to be in. Mother tells me their titles are Demons, and that my Father was one. Though I notice Mother does not speak of him kindly. How they are together, I do not know, but I know she is not happy with him. I want to know more about this pack that Mother says I am supposed to belong in. Mother and Father have been teaching me Latin, the Demon language. My Mother is not a Demon and yet she never explained how she knew it. Sometimes the words come easy and sound pleasing to my ears, but I struggle on some, but I practice at night when Mother as asleep. I caught some scents on the wind, scents that are new to me, they are wolves and around my age, but I have yet to see one. I don’t know if they are being trained by their own parents, or if we are not allowed to see one another? I hope to meet them one day. Yet for now, I guess I should be content. Mother will be leaving once I am weaned and then she will come to visit me, at least she says she will. Sometimes I wonder though if she would truly come back…I hope she does.

Yet today I am practicing my dodging techniques. I am keeping my small ebony frame low to the ground, moving back and forth in different directions, and going side to side to evade my imaginary attacker. Yet I notice a massive shadow above me and I look up in time to see Mother’s paws swatting at me. Wagging my crimson tipped tail from side to side I happily dodge, my puppy growl trying to match her octave as I move back and forth. Yet when Mother snaps bares her teeth, I lace my crimson tipped ears back as I give Mother a good smack on her muzzle with my paws. Yet as she shoves me to the ground I hear her gruff approval and wag my tail with joy. Not flinching when she snaps above my ears I happily get up and move towards her newest kill. After she opens the beaver up, I move towards it and slowly dig my paws and head in its body tearing out some of the organs and slowly dragging them out and onto the ground. As I do this, I speak up, my voice soft, but cold answering the questions Mother always asks of me.

“This is the stomach...prey can be wounded severely in this area. This is the lung…we breathe with it, and if we can puncture the lung the prey will go down. This is the heart, it is best to injure this by clamping down on a prey’s throat to close off their airway.”

As I prattle on in a rhythmic manner I notice how Mother seems tense. Not afraid. Just tense. Curious I tilt my head up. My crimson cursed mark is slathered with blood as well as my crimson painted paws and chest. There is another approaching us and I am unfamiliar with him, but his scent is familiar. I catch it on the wind and on my Father, though who he is I do not know. He carried red in his fur, like me, and perhaps I am finally getting my first view of a real Demon.