There is a story that the Brownies tell.

When the world was young and the gods still walked it, there was a man who approached them.  He was tall and slender, with tanned skin and a wide, kind smile.  The gods saw him and were puzzled; who was this man who walked up to them without fear or awe?  When he stopped in front of them they knew him for a native spirit of the world, there before even the gods, though they had done nothing but wander it.

When he greeted them he was met with cold indifference.  He asked them what was wrong, but they would not answer.  He told them what a wonderful, beautiful world they had made, what intelligent and crafty people they had sculpted from the dirt, but they would not acknowledge him.  He smiled at them, then, for a long moment, then nodded, bade them farewell, and left.

One week passed, and when the gods met he approached them.  The man said the same things, and again he was ignored.  This went on for weeks, the exact same thing, until finally he had had enough.  On this day he came to them and said the same thigns as he always did.  When they ignored him, as he knew they would, he tossed a bag into their midst.  They stared at it, puzzled, and he grinned a toothy grin at them before walking away.

Once he had left the gods opened the sack and found within it one decapitated male head for each race they had created.  They were horrified.  Why would he do such a thing?  It only steeled their resolve to shun him.  A being who would do such a horrific thing was not to be dealt with.

Like clockwork the man reappeared the next week, and again the gods ignored his attempts at communication.  He tossed another bag at them, bowed, and walked off.  The gods opened the bag and found inside more heads, this time female, and again there was one of each race.  A consensus was then formed: the man had to be found and brought before them.  A few days later he was, in the shadow of a large mountain, and the gods went to him and demanded from him an answer: why had he murdered all those innocent people?  He answered them.

"I gave you a chance to see me, but you ignored it.  I gave you many chances to speak with me, but you shunned them.  You ask me, now, why I bring you the heads of your children?  I tell you this now, as a courtesy that you never afforded me: I, and my children, and their children, and their children, and so on until none time ends, shall remain here, in your world, to subvert your creations.  All because of your pride; because you saw what I was and did not want to even consider me."

The gods stared at him for a moment, and all together they spread their arms.  The ground opened up beneath the man and he laughed as he was pulled into the hole.  His laugh echoed as the hole closed up.

The gods made new creations after that: the Diem and the Assani.  The Diem made their homes in the forest where the gods converged; the Assani where the ground had swallowed the spirit.  Guard these places, they were told, they are sacred.  They did so, but the Assani hid themselves from the world when they realized what had happened on their homeland; it was a dangerous place, brimming with potential evil, that no person should be able to go near.

That was how the two races, who were often perceived as being the oldest, came about, according to the Brownies: as protectors of two sacred grounds.

"Is any of that true?" Kyle asked him.

Farcry replied with a shrug.  "Who knows?  Lotsa stories're lies what've been inspired by th'truth.  I do know that th'Diem've got a glade where they hold mosta their ceremonies."

"Gods' Glen," Calista purred from Granite's arm; he had been carrying her since they'd left his home.  Sometimes Logan would spend a couple of hours on Granite's head for a midday nap, though at the moment, much to Granite's relief, his head was vacant.  "It is a sacred ground, not even their holy men are permitted entry unless it is to prepare for a ceremony."

"Outsiders are not allowed no matter what," Granite said.  "Calista and I have seen it from outside, but we have never been within."

"Oi!"

They looked up.  Leanne was on Logan's back as he sprinted towards them from up ahead.  "Trouble!" she said as she jumped down.  Logan, panting, jumped up Granite and curled up with Calista.

"What sort of trouble?" Granite said.

"We're in th'wrong place," she said.  "Well... okay, no'th'right words."  She took a breath.  "We're in th'right place fer where we're goin', aye, but we're nae in th'right place fer safety."

"You are being cryptic, child," Granite said.

"Slow down and think for a moment," Kyle said.

Leanne shook her head.  "I'm makin' perfect sense, I'm just no' gettin' t'th'point!"  She took a deep breath.  "Wolves," she said at last.

Kyle frowned.  "Wait... wolves?"  He glanced at the others.  "So what, wolves?  What's the big deal?  Wolves don't attack people."

Granite's eyes narrowed.  "They do not.  The also do not roam in this area."

"So maybe they were pushed here by hunters?"

The crag shook his head as he looked up at the sky.  "It will be night soon," he muttered.  "What did they look like?"

"Red fur," Leanne said.  "Nae tail."

Something left Granite's mouth that could only be considered a curse.  "Any mistletoe or rye?"

Logan perked up.  "Rye?"  His ears flickered.  "There was a brauman farm a little ways... east?  West?  I dunno, out that way," he indicated a north-east direction with a nod of his head.  "I can go check if you want."

"Ye're nae goin' alone," Leanne said.  "If ye're willin' ta give a lass a ride, I'll join ya."

Logan jumped down.  "For once I like the sound of that."

"How far?" Granite rumbled.

Logan looked out in the direction of the farm as Leanne climbed onto his back.  "With her?  Probably just under a half hour.  Longer to get back, depending on how much we bring."

"Be as fast as you can.  We will set up camp here."

As Logan ran off with Leanne on his back, Kyle turned to Granite.  "So, what is it this time?"

"Werewolves," he said.

"And rye helps against them?"

"It keeps them away," he rumbled.

"What about silver?"

"What about it?" Farcry said.

He nodded.  "Stories are made up of stuff that's true and not true, huh?"  He laughed to himself and started to set up camp.

As fast as they could be turned out to be just over an hour, and when they came back the camp had been set up and a bonfire burned in the middle.  Leanne had crafted a small barrow out of sticks and branches, tied it to Logan with a makeshift harness, and they had stacked the rye in it.  Kyle tossed more sticks into the fire as they approached.  "It took you both long enough," he said.

"You try making all of this on the fly, see how long it takes you," Logan said when they got into the circle of firelight.

"You got back before dark," Calista said, "that's all that matters."  She hobbled towards them; while she was unsteady on her feet, she was walking much better than a few days before.  She lifted the rye and began to place it in a circle around the camp.  On her way by she handed some to Kyle.  "Beneath your clothing, Sir Rossi," she told him.  "For safety."

"Right."  He took it and shoved it beneath his shirt and beneath his belt.  It itched against his skin.  "So what now?"

"Simple," said Granite.  He reached into a nearby bag.  "We eat."  He tossed a slice of bread and dried meat at Kyle.  "Then we sleep."  He threw some to Calista, and to the brownies.

Kyle tore a piece off the meat and chewed it thoughtfully, staring into the dark past the circle.  He frowned when he thought he saw movement.  "How brave are werewolves?"

"Why?" Granite rumbled.

Before Kyle could answer, one padded into the firelight at the very outskirts of the ring, its tongue lolling out of its mouth.  He swallowed the meat and stared.  The wolf cocked its head and closed its mouth.  It had red fur, and its eyes were off.  A moment of staring answered how: they were human.  Kyle licked his lips as the staring contest continued.  "What do we do?"

"Nothing," Granite growled.  "He cannot pass the circle.  Just stay on this side of the rye."

"Right."  He took a bite of the bread and continued to stare.  The wolf never broke eye contact.

Then he blinked.

When his eyes opened again, there was no wolf, but a middle-aged, scarred, bearded, naked, human man sitting on his haunches.  He stood up, unravelling to just over six feet tall.  He was thick but fit, and he didn't seem to care that he wasn't wearing any clothes.  "Hello, sir Rossi," he said.  "Hello, Ambassador Knight.  We need to talk."

Kyle swallowed his bite.  "We're talking."

"I'd much rather it be in less, shall we say, antagonistic environment."

"Stay there," Granite said as he glowered at the werewolf.  "Shifters are tricksters at heart."

"And when was the last time werewolf attacked man?" the stranger asked.  He shifted his gaze to Granite.  "I would not think to harm the Abassador Knight.  None of my kind would.  Why would we?"

"Saviel's arm reaches far," the crag rumbled.  "He poisoned the Vespids with his power and words.  How do we know he has not poisoned you?"

The wolfman smiled.  "We've been following you for days now, Master Stonemason.  Your scouts are keen, but no one knows how to hunt unseen better than a werewolf."  He extended a hand.  "A brief parley, if you would not mind, with the Ambassador Knight.  If it makes you feel any better, I do not mind if he keeps the rye he has stashed beneath his clothes."

Kyle nodded and stood.  Granite opened his mouth to speak, but Calista put a hand on his stone leg.  "I think, perhaps, it is best to trust in this instance," she said.  "Not all are as easily swayed as the Vespids, after all."

Granite looked from her to the werewolf and sighed.  "Very well."  He looked to Kyle.  "You will need a light out there."

"I already have one."  He grinned and pulled out his flashlight.  "The only thing from home that survived."  Kyle pocketed it and nodded to the man.  "Let's talk, then."  He stepped out from the ring and followed him away from the campsite.  The other wolves were nearby, Kyle could feel their eyes, but they kept their distance.  "Not many trust you, do they?"

"No," said the wolfman.  "It is the nature of the shifter.  Any who can change their shape, it is felt, cannot be properly trusted.  I am ashamed to say that this... shall we say... prejudice... is not entirely without foundation."  He led Kyle further from the camp, towards the nearby forest.  "We were known, ages ago, to use our shapes as a disguise, to spy, or to steal, or, occasionally, to murder."  His voice was dark with that last word.  "It earned us a bad reputation, and while we are striving to make up for it, it is a long process that I sometimes fear will never be finished."

"Why were you following us?"

"Because, Sir Rossi, we needed to talk."  They stopped walking and the man leaned against a tree.  "Every month, for the five days surrounding the full moon, my kind run in a pack.  We hunt, we play, we mate."  He folded his arms across his chest.  "It helps keep us... human... to give the animal some time to play."  He stared up at the sky.  "This time, however, we have not been playing; we have been searching for you."

"Why?"

The werewolf's gaze settled back onto Kyle.  "You are in danger."

Kyle laughed.  "You think I don't know that?  No offense, mister, but you're keen at overstating the obvious."

The half-smile he was given stopped him from saying anything more.  "Your Stonemason friend mentioned the reach of Saviel's arm," the wolfman said as the smile faded.  "He is right to be cautious.  We were approached by him, given the promise of reprieve from the scourging should we pledge our allegiance to him.  We refused, of course, but some others did not."

"What do you mean?"

He pushed himself from the tree, turned around, and ran a hand along its bark.  "There are many stories of my kind from where you come from.  Some hold no truth, others are nothing but."  He took a breath.  "A bodark is after you."

"A what?"

The man shook his head and licked his lips.  "Not all werewolves, Sir Rossi, are naturally so.  Some require a spell.  The bodark, they found their way into your world's Russia, I think it is called, before we hunted them all down and closed the doors.  They cannot transform at whim, they must say a spell.  Our own stories hear tell that the eldest of the necromancers gave it to them, as payment for their loyalty.  We do not recognize them as our own, and when one is created, we hunt it, and we kill it.  The bodark is a killer and thief, and I have reason to believe that Saviel has called upon the old contracts and set one loose upon you."

"You mean one's been created?"

"That's right."

"How do you know?"

"How do you not?"

Kyle arched his eyebrow.

The werewolf sighed.  "An Ambassador taught us," he said.

"An Ambassador Knight taught you?"

Now it was the werewolf's turn to arch an eyebrow.  "Ask the Stonemason for the difference, Sir Rossi, he could explain better than I.  But one of the Ambassadors came to us when the bodark were in the midst of their invasion, and he demonstrated how to sense them."

"Can you teach me?"

He shook his head.  "No one can recall how to do that.  But it feels like..."  He frowned for a moment before he continued with a small smile.  "Have you ever had that feeling, like a small tingle in the back of your mind, or the hairs on the back of your neck begin to stir, that someone is watching you?  There is no rhyme or reason to it, but you just have the feeling that you are being watched, or followed."

"Yeah."

"It is... similar... to that."

Kyle nodded.  "I understand."

"Good."  He led Kyle out of the forest.  "I must get back to the clan.  The full moon is tomorrow, and we still need to... indulge, if you will."  They left the trees.  "Be careful, Sir Rossi," he said.

"I will.  Thank you."  He turned, took a step, and stopped midway through the second.  "How will I know?" he asked, half-turning.

The werewolf cocked his head to the side.  "It's in the eyes."  There was a howl from a short distance away.  The man frowned then smiled.  "They grow impatient."  He grinned.  "She grows impatient, I should say," he said with a chuckle.  "Don't trust any human male who comes to you willingly, Sir Rossi, and look them in the eye.  It's all in the eye."  Another howl.  "I have to go.  If you'll excuse me...."  He tipped his head, turned, and ran off.  Kyle blinked, and, once again, when he opened his eyes the man had changed shape and was quickly loping away.

"It's all in the eyes?" he said.  "What the hell does that even mean?"  He shook his head and turned back to the camp.  When he stepped over the line of rye, he lifted his hands.  "Why the hell does everyone have to talk in riddles around here?"

Calista blinked.  "I'm sorry?"

"What did the shifter have to say?" Granite rumbled.

Kyle walked to his bedroll.  "What do you think?"  He shook his head and lied down.  "I'm in danger, of course.  Some sort of werewolf's after me, apparently."

"One werewolf is the same as any other," Granite said.

Calista hissed softly at him.  "You know better than to say that."

"I do not trust them," he said.  "They are unnatural."

"How?"

Granite pointed.  "They shift shapes," he said.  "You cannot tell me that is natural."

"The vampire is unnatural," Calista said.  "The dead are supposed to stay dead, after all.  But werewolves are born that way, it was a gift given to them."

"I have heard the tale, my dear.  I just don't believe it."

Kyle stared at the stars as the fire cracked and died.  "Hey, Granite, can I ask you a question?"

The crag turned to him.  "Of course."

"What's the difference between an Ambassador and an Ambassador Knight?"

There was a moment of silence.  "Ambassadors are called to help with small things, things that do not endanger the world," he said slowly.  "Ambassador Knights are those like yourself, those called when everything we hold close is in danger."

"Sounds clear enough."  He kept staring at the stars and wondered if there were constellations up there, and if there were then what the stories behind them were.  "We can dispense with the rye, I think," he said as his eyes started to drift shut.  "I don't think the werewolves are going to hurt us."

"Did they tell what exactly may be hunting you?"

Kyle nodded.  "Bodark," he said while trying to stifle a yawn.

While Kyle heard Granite say "Perhaps they are trustworthy after all," he didn't see the group exchange concerned glances as his eyes drifted closed and he fell asleep.