Wapun Meadow what does fury want me to do, swallow it?

Purpose. Something he used to have; something he'd now lost. Or maybe it was something he'd never really had. Icarus shook his head, as if by doing so, he could shake away the troubling thoughts that plagued his mind. A trained killer he might be, but he was not a dumb one. If anything, the brutal training he'd been put through had sharpened his mind. If Ica had been taught the right things when he grew up, there would be no doubt he would excell in any chosen field requiring the brain. But he hadn't; he knew next to nothing about pack life, so in a way, he was much more stupid than the other wolves who roamed these wilds.

A pale ear twitched as a scent blew by his nose and in the distance, a grunt was heard. The ghost turned around, head cocked, and his legs brought him closer to the stranger. She was swarthy, draped in a pelt of dark browns and blacks with short, stocky legs. He watched, head tilted in curiousity as her face twisted and unknowingly, he imitated her, unsure of what the expression meant, or why she was doing it. The wraith was silent, but he knew that by now, she would've caught sight of him. He didn't care. There was nothing he really cared about anymore.