Their rough, harsh language is bitter after the soft, ancient language. Lies come easily and seem to be skilfully rolled off the tongue. Maybe my eyesight is twilight, but I know from stories what the color of my eyes or wolves from the eastern coast of Erythra is.

I hear disbelief in the North's voice:

“And why don’t you see colors in human skin, too?” he asks incredulously.

- I'm not a man, - I almost growl answer, - I'm a she-wolf.

The circulating ancient blood that flowed in the veins of the great wolves is now a drop in my brothers. It was transferred, it became obsolete with the...