A lone wolf moved through the forest. He was large, rivaling even Optimus Prime is size. His fun was in shades of brown and riddled with scars. His right ear and tail were torn off, his right eye was red while his left was green, he had an overbite so his two top fangs stuck over his lip. He was stocky and blundered more than anything, seeming nothing like the usually graceful Dire wolves. He had long forgotten his birthname and the pack he had been driven from once he was a teenager. He was seen a cursed, but from all he had been told, no matter how cruelly, about Primus he couldn't believe the spirit had cursed him. He sounded too gentle and kind, so he praised Primus and loved him, thanking him for ever success in hunting and every escape from danger.
He walked down into a den he had dug for himself and settled with the rabbit he was going to have for dinner that evening.
Winter was coming again, and soon he would have steal more than usual. He hated stealing, but he has no choice.