He sits alone in a high backed chair in a quiet room, rubbing his temples slowly.

It seems that the wolves may not have been the convenient scapegoat that he’d hoped.

He knows that the others desire immediate action, but the villagers may have become wary after recent unforeseen events.

The sacrifices would have to wait.

What they need is patience and strategy; wanton slaugher would be a grave mistake, but how long could he persuade the others that this was so?

He wonders if the rumors of the old magick witnessed are true.

His head aches terribly.