We had honour once, long, long ago. On a world of emerald leaves, we hunted our prey without blade nor bow, and took only what we needed. This Lougrim taught us, may her memory never fade.
The abomination slew Lougrim, not for honour, not for the hunt, but for the love of power. She enslaved our people, turned us into footsoldiers for wars we should never have been a part of. Took our young and trained them to be killers, murderers, not the hunters we should be. Honour stripped out in favour of bloodlust, and too many of our kin agreed.
So, what could we do but leave?
We passed through forests, mountains and lost many along the way. Those of us who chose to follow the guidance of the moon, rather than the dragon queen’s willow-wisp firelight. We shall preserve the honour of our people, well, what little is left.
I am old now, the ache in my bones tells me that my time comes to an end. This great desert before me shall be my tomb, yet, I will die free. I will die as a true garou, a hunter, not a killer. When my body rests beneath the sands, let it begin a healing cycle for my people. Let this land flourish, and my people with it.
Let us be the children of the moon again.