The prophecy had, perhaps, been a little too vague. The Knight Marshall looked out over the small throng of teenagers. How in the name of Light had there been this many red haired children born on the new moon in the last month of winter, with gray eyes, a knack for flute-playing, two younger siblings, and had been bitten by a warg when they were three. He sighed and made a note to increase the quota on warg hunting for next year.