Duck Lake Waiting on this for a while now

He did not know where he was, nor did he have an interest in finding out. His life now was meaningless; he had no orders, no missions, no brother. He knew nothing beyond that. The ghost's knowledge of normal pack life was second to none, and he had no one to guide him. All that he had known was gone. Masterless, missionless, brotherless, he was a wandering soul, a lost one, if you may, travelling for an eternity but not knowing what he wanted, not knowing where he wished to go. Without a purpose, the albino was nothing.

The scent of another wolf wafted by his nose. Once upon a time, when Icarus was still a assassin, he would've avoided said wolf immediately, but now, he feared nothing, perhaps because, in a way, he feared everything. So the red-eyed ghost glided forwards to the lake, his movements silent and dipped his head, lapping at the clear water, his tongue licking the last droplets off his whiskers as he straightened and fixed his blood red gaze on the stranger.