You must be mistaken.  His name was not Mercury.  It was not even a name he went by.  It was merely a name people called him.  It was an informal way of saying, 'this man is a lunatic!  His impressions shift this way and that way on a daily basis!'  It was a name with many connotations, really.  And Wick hated connotations.  As a man of the woods, he liked things nice and simple.  But rarely are things ever nice and simple.<br/><br/>The man they call Mercury slithered through Rosewood forest, following a trail of blood, searching for his prey.  A dire wolf, indeed.  Incredible what connotations attach themselves to dire things!  But a dire wolf is indeed something to behold.  He had seen a couple before, but only when he was very young, back in the days that Mercury transversed the forest in the company of his father.  Wick, Sr., had known these forests better than anyone.  He had roamed from one end to the other, protecting his forest ward, never leading anyone astray.<br/><br/>On days like these, in the primal effervescence of the hunt, Mercury missed his father.  He would have enjoyed it.  But this was serious business.  This beast was a killer of men!  And this, no one could abide.<br/><br/>"Urgh, when I find you," Mercury muttered as he slithered across the forest, searching for broken twigs, droppings, blood,  "... I'm gonna make a tent out of you."