Redsand Canyon scarafaggio

The last known of his bloodline, the Duskfire had not been with the wolves of the canyon long. It was a new place. Somewhat strange, at that. A far cry from the glacier and lacking the might of any mountain. His pale coloration of ice and stone made him stick out like a sore thumb against the reds and browns of the canyon.

Change, was difficult for the man to embrace. But he had sworn to try. Still skeptical, with his mental barriers firmly in place, he was deliberate in his explorations. Hanging back, opting out of socializing until he felt ready. He could not close himself off and avoid everyone forever, he knew.

He patrolled, stalked at a steady, un-hurried walk. Dark ears (one nicked) set high, cold eyes set in a stern face alert to detail.