Something was agitating her friend, the wolf thought. She had been steathly creeping along the sandy dunes of the cold desert ever since purnay had given her the black satchel. The cinnamon and black colored wolf sniffed again seeking to catch a trace of the scent she had been signaled to find. The wolf was wary of running into a lion alone out here in the cold night air. She could not let the the smell of water escape her, for she knew that would mean death. The wolf was not concerned for she could already smell a new scent of life, and with it her satisfaction grew. For she had also detected the scent she had come to find. No more then a few anlaen away. The wolf began to trot a little faster. Still wary of the smells of other desert animals around her.



King Raenilar,
The Hand of Theren, through the Chamberlain, has asked me to deliver a message to you. I would prefer to deliver it in person. I am at the edge of the desert. I beg that you would send a tribesmen to guide me.

~Purnay
"The object of war is not to die for your country, but to make the other bastard die for his."