A war.

A destiny.

Hope.

The words circled his mind over and over, again and again. It was all he could think about.

There was nothing abnormal about war and destiny. They were the sorts of grand, mythical things young pups were told, in the form of exciting stories. He remembered many an evening spent with Lexi, dreaming up adventures and fantasies, with heroes and villains of all kinds.

Yet never in a million years had he ever thought to slot himself into any of those stories. He just didn't fit. Maybe once or twice he had placed a version of himself as the hero, but never Thirty-Four, the undersized Peltless. There was one tale of a Flamewylf, as bright as the sun, that he remembered well. His story had lasted several nights, each more exhilerating than the last. There had been searing flames, and daring chases, and an epic battle.

But that had been a dreamed-up character. A vague wish of what the future might look like, a future with a Pelt, yet he had never anticipated that future to come true. Especially this soon. Not once.

For the thousandth time, Thirty-Four flung his body sideways, tossing his snout to face in the opposite direction. It made no difference. The leafy padding beneath him rustled, sliding with his restless squirms. They were so far spread out now that they barely resembled the comfortable bedding the bronze-coloured wolf had laid out for him, all the while whispering to him about how incredible it must feel to have a destiny.

Incredible. I suppose that's one way to describe it.

With a frustrated sigh, he snapped his eyes open, giving up on sinking into sleep. The dark forest loomed back at him, faint light pooling around his paws whilst the trees loomed as silent shadows in the background. For a moment, he stared forlornly across his sideways view of the forest, before wriggling his paws under his chest and rising fully.

Immediately, he felt the ache in his shoulders, pressing deep into his bones. Exhaustion prodded at every tiny muscle it could find. So why did his mind force him away from the sleep he so desperately needed?

Clenching his fangs together, he stared at the ground. His claws pressed into the earth, the soil crumbling easily at his touch. The moisture was all but gone from the ground at the moment. A sharp pain pricked at his paw pad and he stifled a yelp, pulling the leg upwards. If he squinted, he could make out the dark red of dried blood, zigzaging across the base of his paw. It took him a moment to figure out that the wound's origin was the thorn he'd stepped on, earlier that night.

It felt so long ago now.

Exhaling, he placed the paw gently back on the ground, trying to ignore how much it stung. He doubted that a wolf who was supposed to save the world would be hindered by a thorn prick.

In a last desperate attempt to feel normal again, he thrust his gaze towards the moon. It was perfectly serene, casting the same silver glow it did every night. Somewhere up there, Luna was staring back at him. He could feel it - her divine eyes, the same colour as his own, tracing every corner of his thoughts in a silent examination. It was hard to tell whether she approved.

"Can't sleep, eh?"

Thirty-Four spun around, his heart pounding at the unfamiliar voice. After her enthralled comments, the Flamewylf had advised him rather firmly to sleep now. Would they tell him off for disobeying the instruction? Was this that sort of place?

From the trees, a Seawylf emerged. He was, thankfully, recognisable as one of the wolves who had greeted them earlier. His kind expression calmed Thirty-Four's panicked heart, just a little.

"N-no, sorry," he forced out, in an attempt to be polite, tapping his claws nervously.

The Seawylf crouched down so that their eyes met. His were a sparkling gold colour, like the gentle warmth of the summer sun slipping out of a crack in the clouds. Together with his blue-green fur, he was the embodiment of a sunny beach. He reminded Thirty-Four, quite pleasantly, of Calder, and their precious playtime by the sea.

"It's Thirty-Four, isn't it?" The Seawylf nodded in response to his own question. "That's a good numeryc. My name is Morgan."

The name suited him, Thirty-Four thought. It was a soft name. Like the brush of a wave. He was so lost in the wolf's calm that he almost forgot to speak. "Uh, hi Morgan. It's... nice to meet you."

"And the same to you." Morgan slid from his crouch into a sitting position without breaking eye contact. "So, what's troubling you? That's a silly question," he added with a light chuckle, a glimmer lighting in his golden eyes. "I suppose it's a lot for a pup to learn in one night, hm?"

Slowly, Thirty-Four sank into a seated position of his own, forepaws shifting the specks of dust in front of him. Their shared gaze finally broke. "Yeah," he admitted, dropping his eyes briefly. "It's just..." He stopped, realising that maybe this random stranger didn't want to hear a huge monologue from a feeble pup. But the invitation in Morgan's eyes drove him to continue. "I'm nothing special. I haven't got the skills that... the Airewylf that, um, flew us here had, or the Mystwylf's prophecy powers, or anything. I'm not even nearly as smart as Lexi." His tail twisted like an agitated python. "I don't understand how this whole destiny thing can be about me. Shouldn't... shouldn't Bhavisha choose heroes that are more, well, heroic?"

When he thought about the moment the next morning, he would realise how relieving it had felt to speak the words aloud.

During the speech, Morgan had reached out a paw and started stroking his ears, with a touch every bit as warm and comfortable as his eyes. As Thirty-Four's voice faded away, he paused, and ruffled his fur just behind his ears.

"The greatest heroes didn't start off as heroic, pup," he said simply. "You can hardly begin judging your skills at this age. Every one of us has faith in you to achieve wonderous things. But not now." Morgan's tone grew a little firmer. "Now, it is the middle of the night. Now is a time for rest. I'm sure everything will feel better when you're more awake, and the sun is shining."

The words seemed to drip onto Thirty-Four, mingling like heavy weights with his fur and dragging him downwards. It was like a leaden blanket pressing him down - and yet it was the most comfortable blanket he'd ever felt. It drooped over his shoulders, reminding him of all the exhausted aches that lingered there. His eyes closed of their own accord.

"Goodnight, puppy hero," Morgan's kindly voice whispered from the softened darkness. "Sweet dreams."

As he finally drifted away, dreaming of warm embraces and tender flames, he heard the Seawylf mutter, "Zale was right. My voice really does put wolves to sleep."

It was the sun that woke him up. Thin lines of sunshine weaving through his fur, leaving small traces of delicate warmth. It was pleasant, but a little uncomfortable. Gradually, he shifted his body slightly, slipping his chest further into the shade of the trees. He kept his eyes closed. He wasn't quite ready for the dazzling light he knew lurked beyond the safety of his eyelids.

"Thirty-Four," whispered a voice - a friendly voice, one he'd heard thousands of times. "Wake up."

I am awake, he thought back. Doesn't mean I want to do anything.

"Come on," Lexi persisted. "There's something I need to show you."

Pain stabbed into his left forepaw, the sensation of a claw making contact with his thorn wound. It was enough to finally snap his eyes open, along with a yelp as he tugged his paw away, glaring at his best friend. "Don't touch that. It hurts."

Unexpectedly, Lexi looked mildly confused. "That's strange. I don't remember mine hurting at all."

Now he shared her confusion. "Your what?" He propped himself up on his side with his other paw, raising his head.

The corner of her snout twitched in amusement. "Just look at your paw, alright? The left one," she added with a chuckle, before he could begin studying the one that wasn't throbbing.

Though he didn't understand, he did as she asked; twisting to properly observe the paw. Most of the blood had rubbed away into the grass now, leaving only a small circle of red.

But it wasn't that Lexi was meaning. He saw that now.

A graceful band of silver stretched up his paw, curving into a perfect crescent. It sparkled in the sun, so much brighter and more impressive than the simple grey that surrounded it could ever be. His breath escaped him. All he could do was stare at it, dumbfounded, an incredible feeling roaring up in his stomach.

It seemed Morgan had been right. Things were infinitely better this morning.

Following his gaze, Lexi gave the silver swathe an awestruck glance. "Finally," she said, the word released as a triumphant exhale.

Thirty-Four could only nod in reply.

He was vaguely aware of Lexi calling out to the Twilytra. The exact words were lost in the haze of pure, exhilarating joy, swirling into a hurricane in his mind.

Paws thundered out from the trees. He didn't look up from the marking. Gasps and murmurs floated into his ears, whispering of fate, and destiny, and how it felt so meant to be.

Feathers stroked along his back, waking him from his trance enough to notice that the Airewylf had moved to stand beside him. She was bent down, her snout hovering above his paw, as she peered at the crescent. A faint spark lit in her eyes.

"Way to go, Peltless," she muttered. "That's your Peltmark."