The morning light graced the land below it with its warmth, the yellowhammers greeting the Sun in the singing ritual that only birds could understand. The snow was a terrible contrast to the Sunlight, however the inhabitants of the forest were well equipped and prepared to fight off another harsh cold season. None were more adapted than the Varg, powerful pack hunters that both terrified and entranced humans. The wolves.<br/><br/>Timber lifted his massive frame, muscles tensing under his ferruginous hued pelt that blended smoothly into a dusky black towards his hindquarters. His color was not unusual for this region, and anyone watching from afar wouldn't find anything unusual about him, save one detail. Timber never had a pack to call his own - nor did he care about such frivolous matters. While the season before had shown many beautiful pups from various packs, Timber had shown none in his entire lifetime of six winters. It wasn't that he never tried - he had courted and mated loner females, who were desperate and lonely for some compassion. However his efforts always proved fruitless - Timber was sterile.<br/><br/>The wolf bowed his head as he scented the air, his chestnut eyes looking into the darkness that still lingered in the forest. He had heard commotion the night prior - a small band of wolves exchanging words that could have turned deadly. He found the matters of other wolves to be uninteresting, although, while he didn't have a family to protect, he did have his domain - his small cave that rested easily in an outcrop on a cliff that, through the eyes of others, would hold no real importance, meant the world to him. The wolves had came to close for comfort, and they were still resting nearby.<br/><br/>His ears twitched as the light winter breeze brought many indicators that the wolves were now awake and moving. Voices, scents, and the smell of emotion itself. Timber licked his jaw and padded down the rocky shelf, intent on confronting the stranger wolves.