Quote Witchety Grub:<br/>It is too much for Draekin. The effort to remain standing, to restrain the Spirit within him in the face of Kiitani's words and Raissa's courage threatens to break his heart. Then the crude spear, thrown into the circle of challenge, defiling it, cuts what is left of his resolve to the bone. With a cry of anguish and release he collapses onto his hands like a drowning man, washed up on the beach.<br/><br/>The fell Wolf rises quickly within him and all doubt passes, replaced by a savage, bloodthirsty glee. Draekin can smell the Men; a bitter, acrid smell, unwashed and unnatural. Everywhere, the people of the Nation react instinctively, summoning their Spirits and fleeing into the night, inito the trees. The Men stalk amongst them, hunting.<br/><br/>Draekin turns to Raissa, the scent of her clear and sweet, still intoxicating to him, even now. "Gather the Pack. Circle behind them and be ready - I will drive them to you. Take one alive enough to talk." he says, then he throws back his head, his white mane stained red by the fire-light, and pierces the night with a howl from the Primeval Forest. With a last unreadable look at his mate, Draekin bounds towards the Men, a challenge in his throat that promises death and darkness.