The wolves were our allies. In the old days, before Andraste, before the Maker, we knew this to be so. But man grew tired of the chase, the hunt, the truth of fang and steel and blood. Man put seeds in the ground, tended cattle and chickens, and built fences to keep the wolves away. Man bred hounds that would heel and sit and obey, and told himself that the hounds were just as good. Kill the hound in my heart, and grow strong from the meat on its bones. In its place, give me the wolf. —Words caught in the bloody ripples of ancient water in the Fade, somehow remembered