Galatians

In the mysterious moon-dappled forest, where hearts were tested to the utmost, a boy stood alone. The clearing where he rested was half bathed in moonlight, the other side dark as shadows. He stood uncertainly in the middle.
Movement stirred in the undergrowth and two wolves skulked out of the tangled brushes, their ambers eyes like tiny cold flames. One was dark-furred, like the starless night sky, and his muscles flexed smoothly beneath his pelt. He was broad-shouldered and thick of frame and his coat was marked with numerous battle scars. He was named Hate.
His mate, Rage, was a brilliant russet colour. Her eyes were crazed, blazing with menace and fury, and her massive claws scored the ground restlessly. Both wolves' thirst for blood could almost be tasted as they took their respective positions in the unilluminated side of the clearing.
Suddenly a majestic lion and lioness burst into the clearing, their maws opened wide to deliver an earth-shattering roar. The call echoed through the forest – challenging, assertive.
The lion had a healthy, glossy golden-brown coat that reflected the light. Regal and proud (but not arrogant) he stood with paws braced and mane rippling over his front legs. The golden river produced a rich aroma that comforted one like the scent of one’s mother. His warm amber eyes were kind and gentle, patient and forgiving. Love was his name.
The lioness was graceful and elegant, her pelt bleached silver by the moonlight. Her demeanour was calm and serene, like a lake at the bottom of a valley untouched by the wind. No troubles could break her tranquillity, nothing could disturb her inner peace. After all, her name was Peace.
The boy hesitated, looking at both sides, the darkness and the light, in an agony of indecision. The felines looked incredible, standing washed in stony moonlight, heads high, coats in the finest condition.
But the wolves... the look in their eyes enticed him, drew him in. There was danger there, intoxicating danger, which kindled excitement in his blood – hot as fire and cold as ice. He took a step into the unlit side, and they let out eager growls. The felines tensed, muscles knotting beneath their pelts, but they didn’t move. It was against the Law. The boy had to make the decision without any influence from either party.
The boy moved up to Hate and caressed his muzzle. The wolf bared his fangs but the boy didn’t flinch. Memories flashed through the boy’s mind – of his infancy, of his parents, of fights and blood and nights soaked in tears. And that fire was aroused. The fire of hate.
The lion watched, amber eyes narrowed, as claws of regret and pain ripped into his heart. If the boy had chosen him, he’d tame that fire – maybe quench it later with help from the Master.
But it was too late.
The two wolves wreathed around the boy, allowing their scent to linger on his clothes, and Hate led the boy deeper into the woods. Rage stared back, amber eyes alight with triumph, before vanishing into the shadows.


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