Hear the drums they come from the sea
Bring the tribal spirit on me
Cause my pride and my roots I believe
No this tribe you can’t take it from me
— Soulfly, “Tribe”
While Last Call’s Ahroun, Razvan, missed out on the ill-fated trip to Malfeas, he shares the burdens and troubles of his packmates. And yet, he can never truly know the horrific, mind-shattering visions that Willow, Zero and Scully experienced in their first fumbling steps on the Black Spiral Labyrinth. Worse, there’s the question of how much they can admit to their sept, their friends, their Kin.
The pack was already in conflict, and the others’ new mental quirks don’t help much. But for Raz the Biter, there’s always the peace and quiet — or the satisfaction of a good brawl — to be had on patrol. Even if he has to hold his wolfie tongue, at least in the material realm: it won’t do to have the nearby park rangers thinking wolf packs have moved into their park! They’re not all Kinfolk, yet.
It’s on one of these patrols, however, after a long and satisfying Moot and Revel, that the Shadow Lord receives an altogether different call to adventure. He’s no Theurge, not wise in spirit ways. But he’s far from stupid, no typical Ahroun, and he does hear the call of his ancestors. And so, during one of his regular patrols through the new sept’s territory, cutting loose in the Umbra, Razvan finds an Airt — a spirit track — a trail that smells like home, an inexplicable sensation, deep in his soul.
He wouldn’t wander off on a spirit quest by himself, though, would he?
It’s time to bear witness to legend; live the legend; become the legend.