The blood seeped through my sheeny fur as the deer shuddered between my jaw. I bit down harder, my wolf gasping in joy. I hadn't eaten in four days. I was starving and relentlessly tired. But, this was my life now. I was a rogue. The Rogue of the Firedusk Territories.
It's a shame how one can be the most feared, yet so peaceful, among a group of bandwagons. I was a victim. I was rejected by my mate not too long ago and ever since, no one looked upon me for who I am — only the violence they saw burning within my eyes.
They never really saw it, they just heard it. I will kill only if I need to.
See, my family, my entire lineage, mounted from the most blood-drawing wolves and were feared by one too many. It wasn't until several thousand years ago, my ancestors were defeated from their dominance and the Lyncanthropic Peace was introduced. Even then, so many showed such cowardice towered me and my family. As I grew up, I had no friends and the only thing I really ever enjoyed anything but hunting. The blood.
Indeed, it is quite concerning. I couldn't do much. My mate was weak and from a Pack of rivalry to my almighty Stardawn Pack. He was scared of me. He rejected me and caused me such great pain. I have never felt the same way since.
Heat clouded my thoughts. As I gazed up into the sun, a crow's shrill cry rang across all corners of the forest. My fur prickled. Something was not right.
I lowered my stance and bent my hind legs sharply enough to prowl at any instant. A hiss itches my ear as it pricked up. Briskly, I leaped around and in front of me was the last person I ever imagined seeing then.
