Swiftlet, now an adolescent beginning to realize his potential, has a rangy frame and the makings of a nimble and wiry fitness. Rascally in behavior and looks, with mischievous apple-green eyes and his fur flying-away along his nape and withers, Swiftlet is at times unexpectedly elegant; running through the woods like a little deer and twisting and leaping with the suppleness of a weasel. He is an altogether invitingly roguish young wolf, with his warm-grey coat flecked with silver and complimented handsomely by a dark face, underbelly and limbs, and a devil-may-care way of living his life. His voice, bright but raspy, suits him to a tee.