Once upon a time, long, long ago, and far, far away, in the dark and deep, in the haunting, black pădure, there were wolves.  And the wolves were wild, and the wolves were happy.  Hunting, and dancing, and living where they would.  The wolves were vicious, and the wolves were beautiful, plentiful.  They ruled the pădure, and they feared nothing.

But, then came men.  Men with cold iron, and hot fire, man who killed--not just for hunger, but just because--because they were small, and , and afraid.  And soon…

All wolves were vicious.  But, the lupoaica less so, or at least…less often.  Men found them when they were heavy with pups, when whelping, found them when they were nursing, when the milk ran sweet and thick from their paps, an invitation for babes to come and be nourished--when all they knew was love, and motherhood.  Men found them, and struck them down.  And so, many of the wolves, once so wild, and once so free, became…  

Clever.  

They learned to shed their skin, to stand on two legs, to walk like men, to talk, to think, but most importantly…

To charm.