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<center>Story</center>

In Greek mythology, Satyrs were the half-human, half-goat followers of Pan. Bringers of mischief and lewd innuendo, Satyrs were reviled by some, and loved by others.

Wolves on the other hand, have always been loyal and steadfast-- at least by stereotype. The pack is what holds everyone together, and the structure of the pack is what stands above all. Even the lone wolves wish for packs to call their own.

The two types of creatures roaming around the fields and meadows surrounding Mount Omega seldom get along. In fact, some would call them rivals. There are two forests-- one the Satyrs have claimed as their 'Grove' even though it's an entire forest, and another the Wolves have claimed for themselves.

(For those who are more visually inclined, one - is one mile

(Satyr Grove ------ Forgotten Woods

(Not in such a straight line, but you get the idea)

<center>.+what happened here...?+.
major plot events</center>

A fire in the Satyr Grove... set by...? We don't know... but it's out now.

Fielrae explored his surroundings, his dark red eyes scanning the tall trees and the sunlight streaming through the leafy canopy of the forest. Cautiously, he stepped into the clearing, sniffing a stone or a mushroom here, nibbling a berry or a leaf that smelled okay. Suddenly, a strange thing landed on his nose. It was bright and colorful, and when he shook his head it flew off, seeming to dart in random directions. Its beautiful wings glinting. He cocked his head, then ran after it.

Sesshomaru watched them both calmly, laying down with his forepaws crossed and his chin resting on them. It was beneath him to run... it just wasnt his style. He'd rather go to the village and look up the girl's skirts.

Mystic shifts from hoof to hoof, glancing at the other two satyrs nervously.

Sesshomaru watched them calmly, not really caring what they were doing, as long as they left him alone. He got up abruptly, to go see if he could find some young girls' skirts to peek up.

Duo plowed into the field at a dead gallop, plowing right into Mystic and flipping head over heels.

A young Satyr in clothing much too overaged for him sat a bit away from the rest of the group. He watched them intently with his eyes--one visible, and one hidden behind a mask. He did not speak up to anyone, but seemed very interested in what they were all doing. Erik--the little Satyr--was not a very social creature by nature.