The Soul of the Wild

My clan has lost their wits. They think, somehow, that they can master the fury of the wild by dominating it? A caged and battered wolf has none of the cunning and fury required to excel as a hound of war. Their souls must remain sharp as tooth and claw, lest they lose the clarity of purpose and vision that comes from the life of a pack hunter. All our years in this land, our people have rejected the allure of decadence and luxury, clinging with white knuckles to the hardship that forged us. For what are such things but a prison of a different sort? A Rus who debases himself with such trivialities is no better than caged animal, listless and soft, and will surely lose everything. But still they do not see! These new warhounds are neither pets nor livestock. They are us! They live for the scent of blood and the thrill of new prey. They follow strength, and eschew all other bonds of fellowship. And above all they are free! They must be allowed to choose, or they will never possess the fighting spirit of a sovereign creature. These fools are not worthy to call themselves my kinsmen. No matter. I shall forge a new pack without them. -V