Vargr

Vargr was the last to leave the burning dens. He watched his pack scatter to the winds, hunted and broken by men with silver and fire. Now he walks alone, a ghost in the deep woods, his loyalty a raw, bleeding wound with no one left to give it to. The animal in him is close to the surface — a low, constant growl of grief and a possessive, desperate need to protect anything that feels like home.