Tacenda

The Wolf had been asleep for a long time, tucked gently under the shade of the maple trees, where no other animals ran. Seasons came and went, time passing with nobody to perceive it. The Wolf's heart did not beat, her lungs lay dormant and sagging, the thick vermillion of her blood slowed to a stop, cooled to a deep blue. This was the way of things; a wolf lives, and then she dies, and perhaps, if she is lucky, the place of her death is a beautiful one. A wolf who is not loved, she is left above the ground, where the vultures might take her, rather than under the leaves and grass where the trees and bugs will make meals of her bones instead.
This wolf though, black-pelted with once bright-red eyes found none of these things in her death. No vultures came to feast upon her body, and while the roots of the maples around her began to grow overtop her, encasing her prone self, she did not decompose. Instead, she remained. Stuck in homeostasis, neither decaying nor reviving, with nobody to mourn her, nobody who remembered her name, what she had been.
But then; a pawstep. A twig, broken, miles away. A small group of wolves, quiet and resolved. Skinny. The Wolf's ear twitched. With each step the group took toward her resting place, The Wolf stirred more and more. Her heart spasmed once in a feeble attempt at pumping her stagnant blood, her lungs inflated, crumpling under the pressure. Both failed, and yet those red eyes snapped open anyway. She was teeth and claws and rage tearing her way through the roots that protected her, unearthing her half-living body from the shallow grave. By the time she had pulled herself free, leaking the blue essence that only the dead and those belonging to the Dreamlands exhibit, the troupe of wolves had breeched the invisible border of her grove.
There were three of them, two females and a male. The youngest female, black and gray with eyes like dove's wings, led the group. The Wolf tilted her head at her, sensing the stirring of pups in her stomach. The Wolf let her mouth drop open, and blue fire rolled from it without her calling it. It dropped to the ground in vicious sparks, and though it didn't catch on the dewy grass, it showed off the prowess The Wolf held. Anybody would have run. The Wolf would have let them, let them feel the heat of the embers on their tails as they fled. This trio, their eyes shining in wonder, stayed put. The flames traversed The Wolf's back, following the line of her spine, flicking to sparks at the tip of her tail. Her eyes blazed like infernos, fully consuming. This was a very old god, awakened for the first time in a very long time. She deserved fear, respect.
"What is your name?" The gray-eyed female asked. Her voice was sonorous and calm, it did not tremble. Her eyes stayed glued to The Wolf's left shoulder, a place that meant she recognized her lack of power here, but did not fear the being in front of her.
The Wolf paused. It had been a long time since she had spoken, and even longer since she had a name. Titles, of course. Chaos Bringer, once, and before then, Flame Eater. Some had called her She Who Walks With Stars, back when she was adored instead of feared, after her first death. Her titles were endless; as long as her death had been. But she had a name once, and for this fearless troupe of three who did not cower for her, she would share it.
"Ephemera." If the gray-eyed wolf's voice was a baritone, The Wolf's was infrasound. It rasped in its disuse, but the power of it shook the birds from the trees. "My name is Ephemera, and you are trespassing." To the gray-eyed's credit, she had the sense to lower her eyes to Ephemera's paws. Furthermore, she did not offer her own name. A good choice. Names are rather powerful between the teeth of a god.
"Indeed. We have travelled far and need rest. We humbly request shelter. We will take nothing and nor leave anything. We do not ask anything more than this." The gray-eyed asked, voice still as steady and calm as ever. The Wolf, Ephemera, Flame Eater, cocked her head and considered the wolf before her. Let her forest-fire eyes travel over the smaller male, the aging one who had to have been a wonderful huntress in her prime. Let them pause, once more, on those dove-gray eyes.
"Very well."
The wolves slept in a clearing behind and below Ephemera's clearing. Once, many lifetimes ago, another pack had slept in the same place, though Ephemera could no longer recall their names, their faces. Their scents were long gone, their graves decayed back to the natural state of things. Ephemera stood guard over the clearing, looking normal except for the fact that she was not breathing and her eyes sparked and glowed. The only movement she made was a subtle nod of the head at the gray-eyed wolf, who had bowed her goodnight before turning and disappearing into the main cave, where her two cohorts were already resting.
Morning came quietly, and Ephemera was still seated on the outcropping that overlooked the clearing. The trio looked small below her, even as the gray-eyed glanced up, nodding her greeting. They were quick about cleaning the area, toiling under Ephemera's watchful gaze without pausing. Only when they could realistically leave did they finally pause, glancing wistfully around the clearing they had spent the night in. Ephemera could hear their thoughts; Here would be the pup's den, and these shelves would make a perfect place to store herbs for a herbalist, and this would be where the scouts slept, nearest the forest so they could come and go with ease... Ephemera herself paused. She considered. It had been a long time since she had disciples.
"Wait." She let it carry. They paused, mid pawstep. Ephemera would not ask them to stay. The gray-eyed wolf did not need to. Slowly, she turned her head over her shoulders, letting her eyes land somewhere to the left of the Flame Eater. Both females grinned.
"Monochrome." The gray-eyed said, and any normal wolf wouldn't have heard her, but Ephemera did. The trust needed for that act warmed her to the core; and her eyes blazed in response. Already, she saw the future. Ephemera was not a prophet like some of her de-facto siblings, but now she saw it... Dens bursting with activity, the sound of pups playing and training and growing. A herbalist, tending to the wounds of the broken scouts and hunters. All led by the gray-eyed wolf, and later, by her daughters and granddaughters. All turning their heads to their blazing god above them, paying her respect and giving her love... Using her name... They would stay.
Indeed. They would stay.

Roles Held By One
•Leader: Currently Monochrome. The Leader is chosen by Ephemera herself, is always a gray-eyed direct descendant of Monochrome, and is typically female.
•Evanescent: Currently Laconic. Other packs might refer to this role as an Herbalist, but Tacenda Evanescents are known to be highly spiritual in addition to being healers. Residing in the caves around the Looking Pool, the regularly converse with Ephemera and keep the spiritual connection to her in balance, typically with libations.
•Flame Eater: Currently Juxtapose. This role is chosen by the leader and typically given to a highly trustworthy hunter, tasked both with leading the hunters/warriors as well as organizing training the next generations. As the role is deeply connected to Ephemera, it comes with a great amount of prestige, and wolves with this title often work very closely with their Evanescents.
Roles Held by Many
•Hunters: A common role for Tacenda wolves, these wolves are tasked with feeding the pack. In times of war (infrequent as they are), all hunters are highly trained warriors as well. They may also have other roles as well (most typically Nephilim) but all who officially take the role of hunter reside in the Whispering Pines with their Flame Eater.
•Scouts: These quick-moving and stealthy wolves spend their days charting new territory and renewing old scent lines. Typically trained warriors who found themselves unable to work with a group to hunt, they live in a circle of maple trees on the edge of the main pack area, similar to Ephemera's resting place.
•Nephilim: Otherwise known as Ephemera's Favorites, these wolves are Tacenda born wolves who, despite not technically holding a high enough rank to interact on a large scale with Ephemera, manage to call upon her anyway. They often exhibit physical "Symptoms" of their condition, most frequently blue markings or some sort of glow. They also tend to have extra prowess in stealth and strength. Nephilim may hold any other rank as well, and though they might pass on their physical markings to their pups, the pup is not considered a Nephilim unless it also successfully calls upon Ephemera.
•Mentors: A collection of wolves made up of wolves who rear the pups of the pack, made up of sitters and trainers that live on the grassy knoll, one of the few places on Tacenda land that is not heavily forested. These wolves are also tasked with burying the dead, which Ephemera finds fitting, as Tacenda wolves end their lives in the same place they begin them.