flourishing. It was while they were growing this way that the trouble started. No one knows for sure whether Rodama’s newfound power brought arrogance and corruption into his heart, or whether that was his true character from the start. In any case, he changed. He began taking liberties, defying the laws of the wolves, and by his example and indeed his invitation, the rest of the pack began following suit. You see, Jenna, wolves don’t only have laws pertaining to the system of rule and other such things; they also have moral laws, which are considered even more important. It was these moral laws Rodama broke; he seemed to derive some sort of sick pleasure from it, as if he were celebrating the wickedness he brought into the pack. It is difficult to describe how horrible it became. They killed helpless creatures of the forest merely for the fun of the cruelty. The filth of fornication ran rampant; it was not uncommon to even see it happening in plain sight during the day. They spat foul words at other wolves, laughing with mirth, completely pleased with themselves and their new lack of restraint. Rodama himself had two mates at one time, and he hurled profanity at any elders who tried to speak with him about the moral state of his pack. The elders were angry with Rodama for the atrocities he and his pack were committing, but they were unsure of how to stop them; not one in the pack would listen to reason. Everyone among the Sheruna who refused to be led astray by Rodama had long since left. The culmination of the evil came when Rodama began sending small numbers of his wolves to visit other packs, trying to seduce the younger, more vulnerable wolves and persuade them to join their pack and lifestyle. This infuriated the elders, who were determined not to let Rodama spread his immoral poison any farther. They called a council, but did not inform Rodama, because their purpose was to find a way to punish him. They deliberated on what they should do for quite some time. Rodama could not be spoken to, and the situation, while disgusting, did not seem to merit sacrificing lives by going into battle. Finally, one wolf came up with an alternate idea, a way to bring down retribution on both Rodama and his entire pack. It is not often that curses are cast by elders; they alone can do so. Not even the elders themselves know for certain how they do it. It’s not a matter of mysticism or necromancy or any such things. Some have suggested that their emotional influence abilities run deeper than that, and that they can, in fact, affect the body and even the very soul of a creature if used properly. In any case, they came to a consensus, reluctantly deciding to pronounce a curse they had hoped never to use. Since ancient times, the elders had known about a strange well out in the wild, a well that had been known to somehow swallow up wolves from time to time. They didn’t know its nature, why it did so, but they knew that the scant few that ever escaped were gravely wounded, and died very soon afterwards. On the night of the full moon, which was when the well had been known to swallow wolves, the elders reconvened, gathering to pronounce the curse…”

The elders stood solemnly in a large circle, their eyes cold as they thought of what was about to happen. No one from the Sheruna would escape. The elders were reluctant to inflict such misery upon anyone; what they were doing was not a matter of hate, but of protection for the wolves in their packs. They had tried everything, and there was no other way to stop Rodama. They raised their heads, speaking in turn.

“Rodama, Elder…”
“Sheruna, wolf pack…”
“You have rejected the laws…”
“Living in evil…”
“Indulging your wickedness…”
“No longer shall you live so…”
“Spreading your evil…”
“To our innocent ones…”
“We tell you now…”
“That ends this night…”

The elder who had first offered the curse as a solution stood forth, shouting out in a terrifying voice.

“For your licentiousness, we bind you to the Hushed Well forevermore!”

At that very moment, every individual in the Sheruna pack felt as if they had been struck by lightning. Unearthly, burning agony tore through them, drawing screams of pain from their throats. Everyone was wailing horribly, begging everyone and no one to tell them what had happened, to make the pain stop. Suddenly, a ghastly voice entered every one of their minds, repeating the words of the curse, and they knew...

Rodama had been standing some distance away when the curse struck. Unable to walk, he managed to crawl back to where his pack had been staying, hearing the screams and sobs the entire way. They looked at him, pleading for a solution, but he could offer none. He expected them to be enraged with him for leading them to this, but each wolf knew his or her guilt; they could have chosen not to follow him. The voice suddenly came again. “Travel three days to the northeast, until you find the Well. You will know when you are closer.” Suddenly, Rodama heard another scream, but this time, it was of terror, not pain. He looked to see what was happening and was horrified to watch a huge, green-edged gash opening spontaneously in the side of a wolf, who was shaking violently, sobbing with panic as he watched his skin tearing open all by itself. “HELP!” he shrieked. Rodama tried to get up, and in spite of the incredible pain was able to make it to his feet...but suddenly, he felt something strange on his hind leg. He turned to look, and gasped in horror, watching a similar wound open down most of the length of his hind leg. No blood came from it, but it erupted into intense, searing pain, and he cried out, falling down again. All over the pack, the screams intensified as everyone began suffering the same random, unprovoked injuries. Rodama looked up to the sky, howling with anger and agony…

Jenna wiped her eyes, but it was no use; more tears poured down her face as she sobbed, barely able to imagine the nightmarish scene, her heart breaking with compassion for the Sheruna. “I feel so sorry for them,” she said, her voice cracked. “I know they full well deserved what they got, but…” “I understand,” said Avantar. “Compassion is noble, even if the one suffering deserves it. Anyway, they crawled to the well, and there they’ve remained ever since. When they are near it, the injuries vanish and their pain is reduced, but far from eliminated. If they try to move away from it, their pain gradually increases, as well as the injuries, until they are in such agony that they cannot go any farther. They can never leave that place, even in death if I understand it correctly. It is a miserable life for them now; constant pain, and little food and water because of where the Well is. Most creatures avoid it, and I hear that its water cannot be drunk.” “Why didn’t Drezan tell me this story?” “The elders made a pact that night never to speak of the curse or of the Sheruna again. The intent was to leave them cursed until their death, at which point there would be no reason to think of them any longer. Drezan only heard rumors of the story; he didn’t hear the whole thing because he wasn’t at the council when the curse was pronounced. It was the elder before him that was there.” Jenna thought about everything she had heard for a minute or two, but then became confused. “But…I don’t understand. Why on earth do they need Balto? That’s my husband, by the way.” “That I can’t tell you. But I certainly know who can, someone who knows everything about the Hushed Well, including its exact location, which I do not know. He is a creature of darkness that lives much nearer to it than I. Unfortunately, it isn’t exactly easy to get there. A dead forest stands in your way, and it is inhabited by wicked creatures.” “It doesn’t matter what I have to go through; all I care about is getting to Balto.” “Very well. I will lead you to the edge of the black land, but I cannot go any farther than that.”

Balto spent much of his time trying to bring himself to inquire further about the curse the female wolf had mentioned. He would have done so already if something inside him hadn’t spoken out against it every time he thought to try. Somehow, unconsciously he didn’t want to know, a feeling he was convinced came from what he had seen when he touched the water of the well. “I suppose I might find out tonight,” he thought, remembering what the female wolf had told him. He was sick of waiting around; he had already attempted to escape, but been foiled before long, so he was forced to resign himself to the fact that he wasn’t leaving until their use for him had been set in motion. At nightfall, he made sure to stay within sight of the well, wondering what might happen to show him what sort of curse was on these wolves. It didn’t take long for Rodama to notice his loitering. He approached Balto, watching him stare at the well. “I see you are already questioning its nature,” he said. Balto nodded slightly. “It’s more than a well; I can tell that much.” “Indeed. I am sorry, but I know nothing of the how of the curse; I know only the why.” “Really? Tell me, then; why?” “Two years ago, the council of wolf elders convened, an unscheduled meeting which I was not invited to attend. They had grown tired of my...carefree view of their laws.” He chuckled. “Imagine, eh? I decided that the laws of wolves, the moral laws, the restrictions, were all worthless. I said to myself: ‘I should be able to live how I like, accountable to no one’. And thus, I put it into practice. It was only natural that many members of the pack followed suit. Yes, we were truly living, and I thought we had a whole life of revelry ahead of us…until the curse.” Rodama’s face turned cold. “The council pronounced a curse on myself and the entire pack for our lifestyle. As long as we live, we will suffer unending pain, and we can never stray far from this well, or suffer worse pain and dreadful wounds.” He shook his head. “We are being punished.