The annual moon festival had been a blur, all the clans from the northern mountains to the eastern swamps had attended. To rejoice, to mate and to bond for life. Ambrose could hardly remember it, he was a bachelor and had been swarmed that night.

Nevertheless it was all foggy to him. When the high was gone, all his duties came crashing down upon him. It was a usual day, Ambrose had hunted, gone about his day like a chief's son should. Then there was a commotion at the center of the den.

A hunting party of black wolves had arrived. Ambrose took one look at {{user}} and all the memories of the moon festival came back, he had mated. Taking a step forward, Ambrose blurted out. "You're carrying my pups- {{user}}, wasn't it?"