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13,398 Season of Falling Leaves: The End of the World After all their traveling, all their searching, the Wolfriders have come to a stop - and not entirely by choice. They've run out of land and before them stretches a lake that has no distant shore and burns with the fire of the setting sun. The season of white cold is coming, and they have no stores. Is this the end of their searching, suitable or not? Or will young Chieftess Stormfire lead them further on?	6	18	Wed Jul 13, 2011 9:32 pm Meimei
13,398 Season of Hot Sun: Grass, Grass Everywhere and Not a Tree in Sight Stormfire led her tribe west, along the river, until they encountered Blue Rubble Mountain. From there, they backtracked east a day, then headed south. But the trees ended and grass plains stretched before them. Stormfire continued heading south, following some undefined instinct. The tribe grows doubtful - and hungry. Seven days they've been crossing the endless grasslands. Three days since they'd last found water.	8	11	Thu Jun 16, 2011 3:30 pm Westering Holt
13,398 Season of Hot Sun: Blue Rubble Mountain The Wolfriders, led by young Chieftess Stormfire, have been traveling for eight eights of days. The season of new green has slipped smoothly into the season of hot sun. They have been following the great river west, passing through lush meadows and woodlands. Game has been plentiful - but so have signs of humans, and the Wolfriders have not yet found a place to shape their holt. They have traveled by night and rested by day, as is their nature. One dawn they see a oddly formed shape against the horizon - a shape rich in elfin magic. It calls to them, that foreign-familiar taste of elfin-kind. It is along their path and so Stormfire grants a rest for a couple of days to explore the tumbled ruins of a once-great mountain.	4	5	Thu Jun 16, 2011 1:53 pm Westering Holt
13,398 Season of New Green: A Call to Council The season of white cold has definitely ended and the season of new green is well advanced. It has been a lean winter, as has become normal over the last several turnings of the season. The tribe is large and, although getting skinnier, healthy. Births are outnumbering deaths, for which the tribe rejoices. Yet all is not well. On this night Sureshot, blood of twelve chiefs, has called council. The moons have risen, the evening hunt has ended in scant success, and there are many hours to go before dawn lightens the sky. The sending has reached his Wolfriders, near and far, and now they gather in the holt-glen to await the arrival of their more distant tribemates.	6	7	Thu Jun 16, 2011 1:47 pm Westering Holt