There once was a white city; snow-covered roads and snow-covered rooftops, it was a sight many saw as extraordinarily pretty. Surrounding the city were rows and rows of forestry, green underneath and piled with snow in-between. There wasn’t a city for miles on end. And the roads leading out, were certainly snowed over and the ice was far from thin.
But the city and it’s townsfolk were stable and strong. They scoured the grounds and the forest for wood and lots of it. It was the obvious thing to do for the city and the wee little shanties. To keep warm and dry, was certainly an absolute necessity. It was the only threat they knew.
The cold was home to another, a rather ill sort of being; the Baba Yaga wait calmly for townspeople and children. She’d lure them in with deeds of trickery, but was always cut short by the daring howls from the east. A fear would settle in her bones and her brave and evil soul would tremble in spite.
For the wolves of this city stood ever on guard of its people. Forever in the shadows, forever unknown of their sterling deeds. In the night, it was common to hear the howls. Irregular, wolf-like shadows were occasionally seen; the townspeople, they cursed and called them demons and spit in their name.
It was a true ignorance. Unaware of the evil in front of them and unaware of the ones they called “foul,” keeping it at bay. But the townspeople of Hayrenval lived their lives in content; but safe. And the Baba Yaga never let down. She continued boiling in her evil ways, in hopes to wander folks astray. And the Wolves of Hayrenval, so long as Baba Yaga was around; never left their form and never stood down.
This is their tribute of appreciation, to the city of Hayrenval. Now, it is known; what evil hungers of them. Now, it is known what dauntless creatures protect them. Perhaps now, their hate for what they do not know, lessens and fades, until no more.
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