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Description

Bone and Thread Tracker | Chronological Group History | Theme | Spotify Playlist
Accepted into DOTW on June 10th, 2023

"Crosses to burn
Axes to fall
Down on your knees you just don't look so tall!"

art (c) Trrraven

Name: Harrow
Nickname(s): None; will only respond to her full name.

Age: Adult (roughly 4-5 years)
Gender: Nonbinary/Transfem They/She (amab)
Voice: N/A
Height: 36’’
Weight: 132 lbs
Rank: Neophyte
Build: Large, thick and imposing, Harrow stands above most in terms of height and weight. She has a large, heavyset skull with a crooked nose bridge, small ears and sharp, narrowed eyes. Two scars are slashed into her brow on her left side, though her body is undoubtedly littered with more, covered in her dense pelt.

"Now, the time is now
We can still turn it around
Raise your voice like a weapon
Til they fall to the ground"

Territory: Vektren
Sexuality: Unknown
Marital status: Single
Former Territory: None

Family:
Typhon; father (sire), deceased
Acheron; parent (dam), deceased
Charon; brother, deceased
Styx; sister, unknown

"Light, let there be light
Without a shadow of doubt
We will fight tooth and nail until
Salvation is found"

Personality

Bold; Inspiring; Commanding
Resolute in her ideals and her own strength, Harrow does NOT back down from challenges or expectations she sets for herself and others. She will continue to throw herself at any issues, even if she needs to ask for help or look at it from a new and different angle. In her efforts to win any fight she comes across, Harrow is eager to motivate anyone around her, wanting to aid her companions to unlock their capabilities. In line with her imposing appearance, she isn’t afraid to take charge, using her experience and knowledge to reign in her subordinates, and assess their situation. She is cordial, even polite, but if insubordination arises, she has zero hesitation in putting them in their place. Vektren is one for all - should you decide that your life is worth more than the whole, she will make short work of that pompous attitude.

Critical; Encouraging; Analytical
As a strict military leader, Harrow demands perfection from her soldiers, but understands that not all strengths play in the same field. If she sees you slacking you’re liable to catch her ire quicker than sparks to dry tinder, and she is not afraid to discipline where needed. On the other hand, if someone tries the best of their abilities and fails continuously, it is not out of her character to ease them into other areas of work. Everyone in Vektren contributes, but not all in the same way, and she will set them on the path to their full potential. Brute force can move boulders, but not every problem is a physical threat, and tooth and claw are useless in areas that require more than a strong jaw and quick reflexes.

Gentle; Calm; Sincere
Far from the stresses of war and the thundering of pawsteps against stone, Harrow is a still pond of placid warmth. For all her prowess in the world of death and battle, she wants little more than a place to call home, and friends and family to share that with. She has little need for saccharine words and honeyed thoughts - if Harrow gives you a compliment, rest assured she means it.

"So how can you look
The world in the eyes
When all we can see is corruption and lies"

Pre-Group History
///TW for murder (sibling murder as well), war, etc

Acheron, tall and graceful, followed after the hirer, eager to do the job they’d been assigned, happy to be able to bring back such valuable information to their Patron. Typhon lingered behind them, his hungry eyes resting squarely ahead with his teeth clenched as they neared their destination.

Ironridge was a pack of great military standing; having knowledge of their inner workings would give them a leading edge, should they ever need it. And, on top of that, the hirer had offered them something they couldn’t refuse - her pups. It was uncommon for a hirer to offer something so visceral, but what she had asked of them wasn’t so simple.

The hirer wanted the leader killed. This was no easy task.

The gods must have a sense of humor because after their ambassador had them settled within the pack, roles reversed. The female who had come to create a contract with them wound up dead - a terrible miscarriage, apparently - and while the pair discussed returning home, another problem arose. Acheron was pregnant.

And what a problem to have. How would they return the whelps to their Patron? They couldn’t risk such a treacherous journey while Acheron was in such a state; it had been a rather perilous trek on their way down. Bears, hostile weather, at one point a family of mountain lions had decided they seemed a fair meal - they needed to remain where they were for now. They would return home with their progeny when they were old enough to safely do so and they would be able to provide much more information, and be able to create the perfect plan to carry out their contract.

Being born into such a militant pack had it’s benefits; they were well provided for, well protected. Because of how well they had been integrated into Ironridge’s lifestyle, it was a perfect situation - a parasitic bond, even. Acheron and Typhon allowed their three children to be brought up publicly as Ironridge soldiers, but in the cover of night, or any time they spent privately together, tales of the Shunned Ones were whispered to the young whelps. They took to it easily, still young and impressionable, easy to mold… it was perfect.

They let the pack raise them as fighters, keeping them well fed and watered, Ironridge only further permitting them to grow like rabid weeds under their care. All Archeon and Typhon needed to do was sow the seeds of Senisteros and Xibalten.

The three pups were keen on listening to their parents' twisted religion, having no other notion of such things - Ironridge had no use for gods or spirits - but while Styx and Charon had other interests, Harrow clung to the stories, completely engrossed. She wanted to take part in her own trials, claim her own spot in their pack, to be marked as resolute servants to the Shadow Mother and Dread Father as her parents were. They promised her she one day would, pleased that she longed to be involved; she just needed to be patient and grow.

And grow she did. She quickly outgrew her brother and sister, gaining weight and putting on muscle as she excelled in her training. She had always been more ambitious than her siblings, always the first to stand to attention, the first to heed and order. It wasn’t long before she was tapped to join a small group of talented young wolves, all of whom would be trained and tested to see if they had the potential to join the Monarch’s guard; the most elite soldiers within the pack.

Her ambition only grew when her parents brought their children up to speed on their mission. Harrow was in the perfect position to feed them the information from the inner circle, anything they wanted to know about how the crown operated - and more importantly, the Monarch’s whereabouts and schedule. They only needed to be patient again, to wait for Harrow to attain her position in the guard. It would only be too easy then.

But it wasn’t meant to be.

Charon, for all his softhearted idiocy, had fallen for the daughter of the Monarch and had turned his parents in as assassins, telling the crown of their plot - but omitting his siblings' involvement from their plan. In his heart, he still believed they could be saved, but his parents were beyond help, having been brainwashed and raised in their cult had ruined them. But Harrow and Styx… they were still young. They could still be saved. He just needed to aid them.

Harrow watched on as her parents were put to death, putting on a good show, features bereft and betrayed; how could she possibly know that her parents were such monsters, dear Monarch?

Inside, the gears were turning. She needed to be patient. Lucky for her, patience was her strong suit, and all she had to do was carry on as usual.

The moment her parents were dragged out of camp and buried, she was quick to act. Despite her position, she had little to her name aside from a few dried animal skins, but that was more than enough for what she needed. Digging up the cold bodies, she began her filthy job, plastering the hearts in a thick clay (she knew little of decomposition, but it was all she could think to do), wrapping it tightly in the skin before finding a hidden place to bury them… for now.

Upon her return she was questioned, having been seen removing the organs in question, but her explanation of wanting to make sure they were well and truly dead - no longer a threat to the crown - only bought her more admiration from her peers.

---

Seasons passed and Harrow only continued to climb the ranks, quickly surpassing her guardsmen, becoming a pillar in the pack; trustworthy, dependable, vigilant, rational. For all her ‘friends’, none of them could claim to know her well aside from knowing they could count on her… Just the way she needed it. She didn’t want bonds holding her back when her plan would finally be set into motion.

Her first test of power was surprisingly easy. Charon was a sap. He was an idiot. A fool. Tricking him into incriminating himself for several petty things was only the first step, but it culminated in a dead Elite, and Charon standing above his body, blood on his jaws. He was felled where he stood.

No one needed to know that he had just helped Harrow take down a deer. That she had killed the Elite herself. That she had told him to take that specific route, having placed the body squarely in his way. That she had alerted her fellow guardsmen that her brother was enraged - blinded by the idea that said Elite was going to take his love from him.

She watched with mock sorrow as they buried him. Vengeance and manipulation weren’t in her nature. She didn’t pursue a certain target when others were to be chased. She didn’t believe in using coercion to get what she needed when she could attain it through other means.

But Charon had taken their parents. An eye for an eye. She had contemplated taking his mate's life as well, but it wasn’t worth the hassle. She hadn’t been involved. Charon had acted on his own, selfish and obtuse. It would do. She’d leave him there - whenever she returned to Vektren with her parents, he wouldn’t be coming with them. She offered him no prayers, no ceremonies as she had Acheron and Typhon. He was nothing but rotting meat.

---

She fought in her first war at about two and a half years old, stationed alongside Elite Guardsmen though she hadn’t yet joined them, and aided them in storming the rival packs Keep. They rolled in like thunder, storming over the opposition in a coordinated attack, and Harrow had the honor of being the one to reach the Baron first. The struggle was fierce. Harrow was huge, but the Baron was stronger, and his teeth dug into her brow as she dove toward his neck. Blood clouded her vision, but her triumph was inevitable; either way he had lost. His pack was decimated. And now he was dead.

Having been the one to deal the finishing blow (even though it was only luck that she reached him first) her prestige only grew, and she gained more infamy in the inner circle of the crown. It was clear she was a favorite of theirs, and it was only a matter of time before she was ready to join the Elites herself.

Styx approached her after to congratulate her on a job well done, and Harrow relished the praise. They had never been particularly close as children, but in the absence of other family, they had managed to forge a fairly strong bond. Their personalities were quite distinct, but knowing that Styx had been just as outraged about their brother's actions offered her a kind of vindication she couldn’t describe. Even more so, she was eager to help Harrow in her plan.

She had little to offer in terms of physical aid - her position as a hunter was not one of power - but she was more than able to cause a diversion, should the need arise. Styx would be there for her, once it was all said and done, and the smaller wolf admitted to being glad their brother had gotten what he deserved.

While they were in the business of admitting things, Harrow confessed something of her own, rather bluntly, asking Styx to refer to her as sibling, or sister instead - at least while they were together in private. Styx, having been raised by a nonbinary parent barely blinked at the request, but she could understand Harrow’s hesitation in admitting this in public. Ironridge was extremely orthodox and had barely accepted Typhon and Acheron’s mateship, so the two kept it to themselves. With Styx on her side, and her own expression out in the open (at least a little bit), so began another long wait.

A season later she is offered a huge opportunity, being allowed to lead her own squadron against their next enemy. It was a clear indication of her growing status, and she took to it immediately, and before long, her battalion was the most organized, well oiled machine of them all. After their first few successful assaults, Harrow’s team was recognized for their prowess, and they were sent in first to strike hard, breaching the barrier of the opponents line.

---

A year passed as she bided her time, waiting, watching, gaining more and more trust as she went. After their last enormous victory, not only had she been made an Elite, she had also been appointed as Captain, working under the Commander, in charge of directing and planning the military movements of the Ironridge pack alongside him. Everything was falling into place.

It was clear from the moment she stepped into the role that she was going to excel at this as well. She understood different strengths and where to place which detachments needed to be sent where and for what. The intricacies of the art of war came naturally to her, and even in the event of their rare defeat, she was instrumental at picking up the pieces and inspiring the soldiers to fight once again.

When the Commander, in his old age, stepped down shortly after their fourth shared victory, Harrow assumed his role, finally achieving the rank she’d worked so hard to achieve all these years. At this time she was already close with the Monarch, on a first name basis with him, often accompanying him to meetings and excursions to other packs. She always had his back, always defended him. He had no reason to suspect anything.

She and Styx however were looking for something big enough to use as a distraction. A herd of deer was hardly enough to make Ironridge scatter, and there were no bears or bison nearby to drive toward them. Storms were rare here - there was no way to do this under the cover of a loud drumming of rain. Out searching for something, anything, they found just what they were looking for.

They quietly stumbled upon a horde of rabid wolves, foaming at the mouth and barking nonsense, clipped words and broken speech, clearly deep into the sickness. They watched in grim fascination as they devoured the two loners they had caught, and they knew exactly what they could use.

It was time to complete their mission.

She took the time that night to unearth her parents. Their hearts were probably gone and rotted, the old skins looking fairly decomposed, but she couldn’t leave without them, regardless of their state. Rewrapping the lumps of clay in a fresh skin, she stashed them north of the camp in a rocky outcropping. She couldn’t fail.

They lucked out in their timing as the next evening was dreary and full of fog, a mild drizzle keeping the sun at bay as it started to set, and Styx was quick to set things into motion. She pelted back toward the Hold, fear etched into her face as she rushed in, but the guardsmen were at the ready, inserting themselves into the situation, unknowingly giving their traitor time to flee into the back of the camp, and out the other side without being noticed.

With her sister safe and her job done, Harrow whisked the Monarch away, having been delegated to keep him safe in the wake of this new terror, more rabid wolves tearing their way into the Hold. She led him to their designated escape room, just as she had time and time before, slipping into the dark tunnel as the screams echoed behind them. He was ushered ahead of her, but as they reached the other side of the long winding underpass, she made good on her parents contract.

She extracted her prize far from the chaos that had erupted, but by the sounds of it, unfortunately, there weren’t many left to care, and she made a quick dash to the outcrop of stones. She was pleased to see Styx, ever so loyal, waiting for her there, tall and vigilant, offering a curt nod of approval. They took a moment, wrapping the still warm heart alongside their parents, but they immediately set out, not wasting time in putting distance between them and the pack they had brought ruin upon. A shame, really. It made all the knowledge they had gathered moot…

The coast made for a good compass and as they repeated the way home their parents had told them so many times before, they had to make several loops back to retrace their steps, correcting their course.

Confusing geography aside, the terrain was also rough, blistered paw pads and fending off bears were not uncommon occurrences, and more than once they were sunk up to their chests in swamp, the water frigid, frost clinging to their pelts. They’d lost a fair bit of weight when they finally came across the circular crest of mountains they’d heard of. A few peaks were nestled in the center, and they breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. They were close.

Before they could celebrate amongst themselves, a tree shaking bellow sounded, and the pair were scattered as a mighty grizzly descended upon them, and in their desperate attempts to escape, they became separated. Part of Harrow wished she had stayed and fought, but she knew even with all her bulk, she couldn’t take on the brute that had shown up. She spent a day or two searching for any sign of Styx, but the stench of the beasts covered up any scents she might have picked up. Styx was smart. She wasn’t strong, but she was quick, and crafty. Harrow was certain she had escaped as well.

She had to keep going.

She came across the cleft in the mountain range as she continued north, and with the bundle held tightly in her jaws, she padded down into the frosted, marshy area before her.

A chill ran up her spine, and she could only drink in the smells, the sights. The sounds.

It was time to bring her parents home.

"The blood on your hands left a trail as you crawl
Down on your knees you just don't look so tall."

Description

Bone and Thread Tracker | Chronological Group History | Theme | Spotify Playlist
Accepted into DOTW on June 10th, 2023

"Crosses to burn
Axes to fall
Down on your knees you just don't look so tall!"

art (c) Trrraven

Name: Harrow
Nickname(s): None; will only respond to her full name.

Age: Adult (roughly 4-5 years)
Gender: Nonbinary/Transfem They/She (amab)
Voice: N/A
Height: 36’’
Weight: 132 lbs
Rank: Neophyte
Build: Large, thick and imposing, Harrow stands above most in terms of height and weight. She has a large, heavyset skull with a crooked nose bridge, small ears and sharp, narrowed eyes. Two scars are slashed into her brow on her left side, though her body is undoubtedly littered with more, covered in her dense pelt.

"Now, the time is now
We can still turn it around
Raise your voice like a weapon
Til they fall to the ground"

Territory: Vektren
Sexuality: Unknown
Marital status: Single
Former Territory: None

Family:
Typhon; father (sire), deceased
Acheron; parent (dam), deceased
Charon; brother, deceased
Styx; sister, unknown

"Light, let there be light
Without a shadow of doubt
We will fight tooth and nail until
Salvation is found"

Personality

Bold; Inspiring; Commanding
Resolute in her ideals and her own strength, Harrow does NOT back down from challenges or expectations she sets for herself and others. She will continue to throw herself at any issues, even if she needs to ask for help or look at it from a new and different angle. In her efforts to win any fight she comes across, Harrow is eager to motivate anyone around her, wanting to aid her companions to unlock their capabilities. In line with her imposing appearance, she isn’t afraid to take charge, using her experience and knowledge to reign in her subordinates, and assess their situation. She is cordial, even polite, but if insubordination arises, she has zero hesitation in putting them in their place. Vektren is one for all - should you decide that your life is worth more than the whole, she will make short work of that pompous attitude.

Critical; Encouraging; Analytical
As a strict military leader, Harrow demands perfection from her soldiers, but understands that not all strengths play in the same field. If she sees you slacking you’re liable to catch her ire quicker than sparks to dry tinder, and she is not afraid to discipline where needed. On the other hand, if someone tries the best of their abilities and fails continuously, it is not out of her character to ease them into other areas of work. Everyone in Vektren contributes, but not all in the same way, and she will set them on the path to their full potential. Brute force can move boulders, but not every problem is a physical threat, and tooth and claw are useless in areas that require more than a strong jaw and quick reflexes.

Gentle; Calm; Sincere
Far from the stresses of war and the thundering of pawsteps against stone, Harrow is a still pond of placid warmth. For all her prowess in the world of death and battle, she wants little more than a place to call home, and friends and family to share that with. She has little need for saccharine words and honeyed thoughts - if Harrow gives you a compliment, rest assured she means it.

"So how can you look
The world in the eyes
When all we can see is corruption and lies"

Pre-Group History
///TW for murder (sibling murder as well), war, etc

Acheron, tall and graceful, followed after the hirer, eager to do the job they’d been assigned, happy to be able to bring back such valuable information to their Patron. Typhon lingered behind them, his hungry eyes resting squarely ahead with his teeth clenched as they neared their destination.

Ironridge was a pack of great military standing; having knowledge of their inner workings would give them a leading edge, should they ever need it. And, on top of that, the hirer had offered them something they couldn’t refuse - her pups. It was uncommon for a hirer to offer something so visceral, but what she had asked of them wasn’t so simple.

The hirer wanted the leader killed. This was no easy task.

The gods must have a sense of humor because after their ambassador had them settled within the pack, roles reversed. The female who had come to create a contract with them wound up dead - a terrible miscarriage, apparently - and while the pair discussed returning home, another problem arose. Acheron was pregnant.

And what a problem to have. How would they return the whelps to their Patron? They couldn’t risk such a treacherous journey while Acheron was in such a state; it had been a rather perilous trek on their way down. Bears, hostile weather, at one point a family of mountain lions had decided they seemed a fair meal - they needed to remain where they were for now. They would return home with their progeny when they were old enough to safely do so and they would be able to provide much more information, and be able to create the perfect plan to carry out their contract.

Being born into such a militant pack had it’s benefits; they were well provided for, well protected. Because of how well they had been integrated into Ironridge’s lifestyle, it was a perfect situation - a parasitic bond, even. Acheron and Typhon allowed their three children to be brought up publicly as Ironridge soldiers, but in the cover of night, or any time they spent privately together, tales of the Shunned Ones were whispered to the young whelps. They took to it easily, still young and impressionable, easy to mold… it was perfect.

They let the pack raise them as fighters, keeping them well fed and watered, Ironridge only further permitting them to grow like rabid weeds under their care. All Archeon and Typhon needed to do was sow the seeds of Senisteros and Xibalten.

The three pups were keen on listening to their parents' twisted religion, having no other notion of such things - Ironridge had no use for gods or spirits - but while Styx and Charon had other interests, Harrow clung to the stories, completely engrossed. She wanted to take part in her own trials, claim her own spot in their pack, to be marked as resolute servants to the Shadow Mother and Dread Father as her parents were. They promised her she one day would, pleased that she longed to be involved; she just needed to be patient and grow.

And grow she did. She quickly outgrew her brother and sister, gaining weight and putting on muscle as she excelled in her training. She had always been more ambitious than her siblings, always the first to stand to attention, the first to heed and order. It wasn’t long before she was tapped to join a small group of talented young wolves, all of whom would be trained and tested to see if they had the potential to join the Monarch’s guard; the most elite soldiers within the pack.

Her ambition only grew when her parents brought their children up to speed on their mission. Harrow was in the perfect position to feed them the information from the inner circle, anything they wanted to know about how the crown operated - and more importantly, the Monarch’s whereabouts and schedule. They only needed to be patient again, to wait for Harrow to attain her position in the guard. It would only be too easy then.

But it wasn’t meant to be.

Charon, for all his softhearted idiocy, had fallen for the daughter of the Monarch and had turned his parents in as assassins, telling the crown of their plot - but omitting his siblings' involvement from their plan. In his heart, he still believed they could be saved, but his parents were beyond help, having been brainwashed and raised in their cult had ruined them. But Harrow and Styx… they were still young. They could still be saved. He just needed to aid them.

Harrow watched on as her parents were put to death, putting on a good show, features bereft and betrayed; how could she possibly know that her parents were such monsters, dear Monarch?

Inside, the gears were turning. She needed to be patient. Lucky for her, patience was her strong suit, and all she had to do was carry on as usual.

The moment her parents were dragged out of camp and buried, she was quick to act. Despite her position, she had little to her name aside from a few dried animal skins, but that was more than enough for what she needed. Digging up the cold bodies, she began her filthy job, plastering the hearts in a thick clay (she knew little of decomposition, but it was all she could think to do), wrapping it tightly in the skin before finding a hidden place to bury them… for now.

Upon her return she was questioned, having been seen removing the organs in question, but her explanation of wanting to make sure they were well and truly dead - no longer a threat to the crown - only bought her more admiration from her peers.

---

Seasons passed and Harrow only continued to climb the ranks, quickly surpassing her guardsmen, becoming a pillar in the pack; trustworthy, dependable, vigilant, rational. For all her ‘friends’, none of them could claim to know her well aside from knowing they could count on her… Just the way she needed it. She didn’t want bonds holding her back when her plan would finally be set into motion.

Her first test of power was surprisingly easy. Charon was a sap. He was an idiot. A fool. Tricking him into incriminating himself for several petty things was only the first step, but it culminated in a dead Elite, and Charon standing above his body, blood on his jaws. He was felled where he stood.

No one needed to know that he had just helped Harrow take down a deer. That she had killed the Elite herself. That she had told him to take that specific route, having placed the body squarely in his way. That she had alerted her fellow guardsmen that her brother was enraged - blinded by the idea that said Elite was going to take his love from him.

She watched with mock sorrow as they buried him. Vengeance and manipulation weren’t in her nature. She didn’t pursue a certain target when others were to be chased. She didn’t believe in using coercion to get what she needed when she could attain it through other means.

But Charon had taken their parents. An eye for an eye. She had contemplated taking his mate's life as well, but it wasn’t worth the hassle. She hadn’t been involved. Charon had acted on his own, selfish and obtuse. It would do. She’d leave him there - whenever she returned to Vektren with her parents, he wouldn’t be coming with them. She offered him no prayers, no ceremonies as she had Acheron and Typhon. He was nothing but rotting meat.

---

She fought in her first war at about two and a half years old, stationed alongside Elite Guardsmen though she hadn’t yet joined them, and aided them in storming the rival packs Keep. They rolled in like thunder, storming over the opposition in a coordinated attack, and Harrow had the honor of being the one to reach the Baron first. The struggle was fierce. Harrow was huge, but the Baron was stronger, and his teeth dug into her brow as she dove toward his neck. Blood clouded her vision, but her triumph was inevitable; either way he had lost. His pack was decimated. And now he was dead.

Having been the one to deal the finishing blow (even though it was only luck that she reached him first) her prestige only grew, and she gained more infamy in the inner circle of the crown. It was clear she was a favorite of theirs, and it was only a matter of time before she was ready to join the Elites herself.

Styx approached her after to congratulate her on a job well done, and Harrow relished the praise. They had never been particularly close as children, but in the absence of other family, they had managed to forge a fairly strong bond. Their personalities were quite distinct, but knowing that Styx had been just as outraged about their brother's actions offered her a kind of vindication she couldn’t describe. Even more so, she was eager to help Harrow in her plan.

She had little to offer in terms of physical aid - her position as a hunter was not one of power - but she was more than able to cause a diversion, should the need arise. Styx would be there for her, once it was all said and done, and the smaller wolf admitted to being glad their brother had gotten what he deserved.

While they were in the business of admitting things, Harrow confessed something of her own, rather bluntly, asking Styx to refer to her as sibling, or sister instead - at least while they were together in private. Styx, having been raised by a nonbinary parent barely blinked at the request, but she could understand Harrow’s hesitation in admitting this in public. Ironridge was extremely orthodox and had barely accepted Typhon and Acheron’s mateship, so the two kept it to themselves. With Styx on her side, and her own expression out in the open (at least a little bit), so began another long wait.

A season later she is offered a huge opportunity, being allowed to lead her own squadron against their next enemy. It was a clear indication of her growing status, and she took to it immediately, and before long, her battalion was the most organized, well oiled machine of them all. After their first few successful assaults, Harrow’s team was recognized for their prowess, and they were sent in first to strike hard, breaching the barrier of the opponents line.

---

A year passed as she bided her time, waiting, watching, gaining more and more trust as she went. After their last enormous victory, not only had she been made an Elite, she had also been appointed as Captain, working under the Commander, in charge of directing and planning the military movements of the Ironridge pack alongside him. Everything was falling into place.

It was clear from the moment she stepped into the role that she was going to excel at this as well. She understood different strengths and where to place which detachments needed to be sent where and for what. The intricacies of the art of war came naturally to her, and even in the event of their rare defeat, she was instrumental at picking up the pieces and inspiring the soldiers to fight once again.

When the Commander, in his old age, stepped down shortly after their fourth shared victory, Harrow assumed his role, finally achieving the rank she’d worked so hard to achieve all these years. At this time she was already close with the Monarch, on a first name basis with him, often accompanying him to meetings and excursions to other packs. She always had his back, always defended him. He had no reason to suspect anything.

She and Styx however were looking for something big enough to use as a distraction. A herd of deer was hardly enough to make Ironridge scatter, and there were no bears or bison nearby to drive toward them. Storms were rare here - there was no way to do this under the cover of a loud drumming of rain. Out searching for something, anything, they found just what they were looking for.

They quietly stumbled upon a horde of rabid wolves, foaming at the mouth and barking nonsense, clipped words and broken speech, clearly deep into the sickness. They watched in grim fascination as they devoured the two loners they had caught, and they knew exactly what they could use.

It was time to complete their mission.

She took the time that night to unearth her parents. Their hearts were probably gone and rotted, the old skins looking fairly decomposed, but she couldn’t leave without them, regardless of their state. Rewrapping the lumps of clay in a fresh skin, she stashed them north of the camp in a rocky outcropping. She couldn’t fail.

They lucked out in their timing as the next evening was dreary and full of fog, a mild drizzle keeping the sun at bay as it started to set, and Styx was quick to set things into motion. She pelted back toward the Hold, fear etched into her face as she rushed in, but the guardsmen were at the ready, inserting themselves into the situation, unknowingly giving their traitor time to flee into the back of the camp, and out the other side without being noticed.

With her sister safe and her job done, Harrow whisked the Monarch away, having been delegated to keep him safe in the wake of this new terror, more rabid wolves tearing their way into the Hold. She led him to their designated escape room, just as she had time and time before, slipping into the dark tunnel as the screams echoed behind them. He was ushered ahead of her, but as they reached the other side of the long winding underpass, she made good on her parents contract.

She extracted her prize far from the chaos that had erupted, but by the sounds of it, unfortunately, there weren’t many left to care, and she made a quick dash to the outcrop of stones. She was pleased to see Styx, ever so loyal, waiting for her there, tall and vigilant, offering a curt nod of approval. They took a moment, wrapping the still warm heart alongside their parents, but they immediately set out, not wasting time in putting distance between them and the pack they had brought ruin upon. A shame, really. It made all the knowledge they had gathered moot…

The coast made for a good compass and as they repeated the way home their parents had told them so many times before, they had to make several loops back to retrace their steps, correcting their course.

Confusing geography aside, the terrain was also rough, blistered paw pads and fending off bears were not uncommon occurrences, and more than once they were sunk up to their chests in swamp, the water frigid, frost clinging to their pelts. They’d lost a fair bit of weight when they finally came across the circular crest of mountains they’d heard of. A few peaks were nestled in the center, and they breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. They were close.

Before they could celebrate amongst themselves, a tree shaking bellow sounded, and the pair were scattered as a mighty grizzly descended upon them, and in their desperate attempts to escape, they became separated. Part of Harrow wished she had stayed and fought, but she knew even with all her bulk, she couldn’t take on the brute that had shown up. She spent a day or two searching for any sign of Styx, but the stench of the beasts covered up any scents she might have picked up. Styx was smart. She wasn’t strong, but she was quick, and crafty. Harrow was certain she had escaped as well.

She had to keep going.

She came across the cleft in the mountain range as she continued north, and with the bundle held tightly in her jaws, she padded down into the frosted, marshy area before her.

A chill ran up her spine, and she could only drink in the smells, the sights. The sounds.

It was time to bring her parents home.

"The blood on your hands left a trail as you crawl
Down on your knees you just don't look so tall."