Barrow Fields i hated how people shouted at me for looking different.

Hunter though he was, the smell of a fresh kill drew the scavenger in him. A wolf of the desolate cold and the Lang Vetrarnótt, Stjornuati knew the value of a carcass left to pick at, both for the meat and tendons, and the skeletal remains left behind. The wolves of Stormhaven had made use of all of it, and the potential of such treasure today led the dweller of the Watch across the neighboring fields, golden form slinking along in an effortlest gait.

The meal he sought was the very one he found settled between the dark paws of a petite kona. Her features were peculiar, alluring in the way that an exotic looking kona always was, her dark head and paws stark against her lighter pelt. Halló, kona. He spoke, the rumble of his voice smooth and unthreatening, similar to his posture. She was far from the bounds of their chosen home, and so he held no quarrel with her.