((PK, you lost me ^^))
Bloodhound clashed against a tide of blood-stained fur, claws raking against his hide, seeking to penetrate it. Within seconds he had cut down the front lines of the Ebon-Claw Clan, pushing deep into their ranks. His own warriors were thick in the civil war, attempting to preserve their race against the Bloodcall. Bloodhound then witnessed something that made him howl in rage. His life-mate was cut down before his eyes, her blood still freshly drawn from the wound. His claws glew a invincible silver, shining with the intensity of moonlight. His eyes transformed, becoming huge silver orbs.
The rest of his Clan became enfused with the moonlight, becoming free from the bloodpact. This power was bestowed upon them for breaking the pact and it would be theirs for eternity. The Werewolves had shunned blood and now bowed only to the moon. Those of the other Clans simply crumbled under this renewed vendetta of strength, instantly being torn to pieces by such deadly foes. Bloodhound's pitch black coat became white, reflecting his victory over the bloodpact.
Now everywhere the surviving Werewolves adorned similiar traits, betraying the bloodpact of old and becoming true beasts of the Lunar rays. Within seconds the civil war had become a revolution. Only the Lunar-Tooth's remained. Silverhound roared, embracing his new identity. But then he was overwhelmed by a emotion he had never before had felt the sting of. Loss . . .
He stared over the still-black coat of his mate, tears welling in his eyes. A drop fell upon her graceful coat, transforming it into dust. The heavenly substance rose from the ground, flying out the tunnels and into the air. "My love . . . my life . . . until I see you again." The race had shunned the pact, but at a great cost. Many now fell to the ground in grief, in agony . . . Even Silverhound was stung by the pain. The war had started only a few minutes ago . . . and concluded with the death of thousands.
He stared at a nearby wall, his eyes spinning like a vortex. Within seconds a rift appeared, ensnaring the sight of those nearby. The very substance of the Werewolves was drawn into it, transforming them into nothing more than rays of moonlight . . . The Werewolves disappeared from the forest--
--Within seconds the entire race was at home in a new cavern, already scurrying about to transform these empty caverns into a haven for their like. Silverhound deeply regretted leaving the children behind and ending any chance of learning about their race, but it was not such a issue. This new cavern however was only a short while away from their last . . . but very well hidden. Only one with a Lunar Medallion could find it . . . only one . . .
Grand Admiral of the Imperial Remnant.
"This one is constantly thinking, analyzing, strategizing. He showed no fear, but was curious, studying me in turn."
"All thoughts are worth listening to, whether later judged to be of value or not."
"I have no qualms about accepting a useful idea merely because it wasn't my own."
"Butů it was so artistically done."
―Thrawn's last words