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94

"Ah, Klel! Just the wolf I was hoping to see," Ahote says around the stem of an old pipe. He inhales the strangely sweet-smelling smoke into his lungs. "Come in, come in. We have much to discuss." He takes a last deep drag on the pipe before eyeballing its bowl with a disappointed grimace. "That's the last of it. Ah well, foul habit anyway, and I wouldn't want any of you pups emulating me. But I'll admit, it does calm the nerves."

The old wolf picks up a piece of paper from his desk and hands it to you. The page lists the names of fifteen wolves in the pack. All have been struck out but one, many with an explanation written beside it in Ahote's distinctive elaborate cursive script: "Too ambitious," "No charisma," "Out-of-control violent tendencies," "No required skills," on and on with only one unmarked name remaining. "Klel."

"Me?" you ask aloud, trying without much success to keep your voice steady. "What could you possibly want from me that none of the others can do?"

"Tell me," the elder says, ignoring your question. "In times of great turmoil, which group in the pack stands to lose the most if the ship is never righted?"