The Wolf with a Red Scarf

Chapter 1

                                                                                  Running.

That's how it always began.

Trudging through slick and dark mud, a young boy made his way through a thick patch of forest. Bright green foliage covered his surroundings, stumbling him every now and then, from his focus drifting upward.

It was nearing sundown, and he still hadn't gained his bearings. His young self was clearly lost, but he was determined to find his way home by seeking higher ground.

Following streams of disappearing light, the boy reached a clearing on a slight hill. But it was surrounded by pillars of trees, leaving many shadows to cover the open area. Whimpering at the fading streams of pink and gold above, he began to grow fearful and hopeless.

"Why, hello there child." An eerie figure emerged from the darkness, "Would you like to see a magic trick?"

Jolting awake, Wexler pushed himself out of the nightmare and on the defense. With open eyes, he faced complete darkness, but kept his other senses alert.

He knew it was just a dream, but he wasn't going to take any chances.

That dream, the only dream he'd had in years, was also a memory. And with it happening more frequently, he felt that it was beginning to seem like a warning more than a reminder.

Almost twenty years ago, Wexler encountered a witch. One who had an extreme distaste for his kind, and cursed him with blindness. Leaving the young boy to wander for days until coming across the Lunar Pack lands.

To this day, he had no recollection of who he was, or where he came from. Just that horrifying memory.

The only thing the Lunar Pack could confirm was that he was a werewolf, and gave him the option to stay with them. Which he obviously did.

It wasn't easy though. Growing up with the other pups, Wexler was treated differently for his disability. But even more so, for his other senses being so enhanced.

This never bothered him much. With a lot of support and training. He was gratefully raised to accomplish goals for himself, not his peers.

Letting out a sigh, he picked himself up from his tangled sheets on the floor. His body always seeming to tumble onto this spot when he has that nightmare.

Taking a whiff, he smelled the forming dew outside, meaning it was still early morning. But knowing that he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, he decided to start his patrols early.

With such enhanced senses, Wexler was always told that he'd make a good tracker. Which led him to train in that field for quite a few years. But upon reaching his late teens, he had a change in passion.

He could never really explain it himself, but as he aged, combat seemed to be his favorite skill. It wasnt his best skill, but one he seemed to relish and enjoy. So he joined the warriors.

And now, after seven years of hard work, he was second to the head warrior. With an honorable title, and respected name. He overcame so many obstacles. No longer that terrified outcast who showed up all those years ago.

But he knew a part of that boy still resided. Hidden deep away, with a scar he still struggled to mend.

         Wexler just wouldn't allow anyone to see it.

Stepping out of the pack house, he took in the blades of grass at his bare feet. To the common eye, they appeared as flakes on the ground. All cloned with one another.