Rites of the Pack

They stood there silently, 35 people stood before the gates of the cemetery in a solemn atmosphere, Leon had his eyes closed and listened, he listened to the breeze, the rustling of leaves, the trickling of the stream some 200 meters away and he listened to the breathing and heartbeats of those around him.

Opening his eyes Leon looked at the gate and went through it before stopping and dropping to his knees before the lead graves, he knew the occupants well, they were the last of his kin he had seen, his mother, father and uncle, buried side by side and behind them, his entire village, each grave marked by both a stone, and the weapons they wielded in life.

Shirone and Kuroka walked up and sat on either side of Leon hugged the crying Wolfboy, gently, as they looked over what was once his families home, now their final resting place, nobody made a sound, Ajuka, Seraphall, Hana, and 29 werewolves remained silent as the child mourned.

A warm, gentle breeze, caressed Leon's cheek, causing him to look up as the souls of his family, and his village looked at him with gentle smiles, his father and uncle nodded to him before presenting their swords to him and faded, the villagers bowed and faded as well, all that remained was his mother, she looked into her son's eyes tenderly before placing her hand above his heart, a spectral tear that shined like a gem fell as she closed her eyes and slowly flowed into his heart.

Leon closed his eyes and felt the warmth in his heart as his tears flowed, his face pointed up at the sky, and because he insisted they come at night under the moon so full, he waited till midnight and let out a long, lonely, howl that was heard by all around both the normal and supernatural worlds, every wolf from Werewolves to Vanagandirs, even every day wolves bowed in Leon's direction before howling alongside him

Once the howling died down Leon stood and respectfully took the blades of his father and uncle before he took a distance, closed his eyes, and did a blade dance with the knowledge flowing from his heart, he twirled the blades skillfully, showing everyone the prowess of his people in a spectacle of beautiful danger. With a final downward slash Leon kneeled before the graves, head bowed and swords at his sides, with this he had only one thing to do, light the pyre that lay near the cemetery, Looking to Hana, he rose and took the torch from her hand before approaching the pile of wood that would be the end of this mourning ritual, the rites of the Direpack.

"With this... let you all finally rest in peace... mother... father... uncle Nero... everyone... 'Though we fight till the last, many will forget us, amongst our kin do we take flight, always remember... Ignites spes nostra mortes'"

He threw the torch upon the pyre and sat under a nearby tree watching the embers rise.

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He kneeled amongst his fallen brothers, slain by arrows as he watched the ground that they had held valiantly, he sighed deeply, his final thoughts on his wife and son, he had fought, he had proven that against unimaginable odds that the few could battle and potentially overcome the many, he was a King, he was a Man, he was... a Spartan.