Heath

As the world returned to normal, cursed wolf Bronagh slipping away into the aether with Maeve's pups, a strange change came over the two pups born during the unique incident. One, born between two leaders, developed a darkened coat and eyes that glinted with the same strange aura of Bronagh's eyes. Yet she showed no sign of similar corruption. She remained as dependable as ever, a bright and active part of pack life that showed no sign of vanishing into the wilds created by the fair folk. Her ominous markings reminded her parents of the swampland to the south, a place eerie and silent at all the wrong times. The name 'Bog' was short and simple, but nonetheless fitting.

The other, a half-sibling born in the interest of furthering the bloodline of the pack's legendary chaser Lakebed, gained similarly strange markings. Streaks of green and brown coursed through his coat, but he showed no sign of any pain or threat of vanishing into the mists. Heath may have been a softer name than he truly deserved with fangs as keen as his, but he doesn't seem to mind it in the slightest.

The kiss of Bronagh had left it's mark on the two pups, so close they came to taking the spots of the pups that had been within Maeve's belly. It had certainly left its mark.

On the eve of his fathers death, the cloak was lain at his feet. The raven that had followed the patriarch since time beyond record for this close knit pack now settling on Heath's shoulders. The massive bird said nothing, merely sitting and watching as Mistral spoke of future and past alike.

He had come from northern lands once, perpetually chilled and marked with snow. Both he and Sidhe had trekked far to reach this place, somewhere warm and gracious and oh so fruitful. A safe place for the pack they had not intended to create, a place where they would thrive.

This was the legacy left in Heath's paws. To inherit the mistlands that they live and make their homes in. To wear the mantle that marked him as leader. He was so beloved by his family, by his father, by the wilds and kissed by a realm beyond; how could Mistral not choose him as his successor? How could the raven not grant him their blessing?

It is now his mantle to bear, his guidance that will lead this pack on their next chapter. Ever the confident wolf, Mistral held no fear of this change. Only the impending loss of his father gave him reason to pause. The old wolf was still strong, but there was a tired look in his eyes. He was long ready, but he had to ensure the safety of his loved ones first.

Mistral's song was sung to the heavens that night, when the wolf joined with the Mists alongside his mate and those they lost to establish this pawhold.