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Description
STORY:
One didn't need to be an orphan to truly know they were truly alone in the world, but it certainly did help you move forward without a care.
The seasons came and went and in time, Zlýpes knew he was getting stronger. Even without a pack or any particular skills in hunting, he still
managed to survive even through the more bitter winter chills. While he was unsure of his changing coat colors, or how the darkness of the
world affected him, he knew now that he was a being better left in the darkness and the guise of night. Where he was headed, he didn't know
himself, but there had been tales of territories dedicated to his kind: formidable but alone. Without marks or too many scars, with few talents
to cement himself within a monarchy, he had taken to giving the things in the forest his own name and the gods above that let him live their
own titles. His languages, albeit it harsh-sounding and monosyllabic, was his own that he could understand. He didn't have anyone to talk to
and often found himself making noises to himself. And it had taken months to perfect grounded epithets for the world growing above him.

At he age of three, broad-shouldered and stony-faced, Zlýpes came to a lake. Its only means of getting around seemed to be walking along the
length of the shore. In doing so, anyone across or near the body of water could spot him and kill him if necessary. These were, however, things
only an animal raised to be wary would know. Or told that water was deep and he probably didn't know how to swim.

He came to the brink of the lake and rested his toes in the shallows. It sent a shiver up his spine to see the dirt leave his coat. Carefully, he
stepped out, only to find the clear surface solid enough to support his weight. Zlýpes lapped at the shallow water, rolled around until he was
soaked and chilled to the bone. Staring at his reflection now, his coat seemed cleaned, brighter, matted clots of shedded mane now broken
loose and floating around him. It was hypnotic, to see himself this way, or at all. The puddles he had drank from were too murky and bitter-tasting
for the rogue to admire.

From here, he pressed on, unaware of the thin surface of ice being what it was and only just capable to hold his frame. Other wolves, full-grown
and tribal might have watched him from shore, but the moment they leaned their weight onto the ice and heard it snap, they backed off. There
was the occasional grown and shudder of the ice plates shifting beneath him, but Zlýpes thought nothing of it. His head was in the clouds for the
first time since he was a pup and able to dream. Ahead of him was a flat world, a blank canvas, one he planned to make his own.

OOC: Decided to do some photo-manips over that "huskies on water" and put Zlýpes there doing some soul-searching. BIGGER VERSION .

Description
STORY:
One didn't need to be an orphan to truly know they were truly alone in the world, but it certainly did help you move forward without a care.
The seasons came and went and in time, Zlýpes knew he was getting stronger. Even without a pack or any particular skills in hunting, he still
managed to survive even through the more bitter winter chills. While he was unsure of his changing coat colors, or how the darkness of the
world affected him, he knew now that he was a being better left in the darkness and the guise of night. Where he was headed, he didn't know
himself, but there had been tales of territories dedicated to his kind: formidable but alone. Without marks or too many scars, with few talents
to cement himself within a monarchy, he had taken to giving the things in the forest his own name and the gods above that let him live their
own titles. His languages, albeit it harsh-sounding and monosyllabic, was his own that he could understand. He didn't have anyone to talk to
and often found himself making noises to himself. And it had taken months to perfect grounded epithets for the world growing above him.

At he age of three, broad-shouldered and stony-faced, Zlýpes came to a lake. Its only means of getting around seemed to be walking along the
length of the shore. In doing so, anyone across or near the body of water could spot him and kill him if necessary. These were, however, things
only an animal raised to be wary would know. Or told that water was deep and he probably didn't know how to swim.

He came to the brink of the lake and rested his toes in the shallows. It sent a shiver up his spine to see the dirt leave his coat. Carefully, he
stepped out, only to find the clear surface solid enough to support his weight. Zlýpes lapped at the shallow water, rolled around until he was
soaked and chilled to the bone. Staring at his reflection now, his coat seemed cleaned, brighter, matted clots of shedded mane now broken
loose and floating around him. It was hypnotic, to see himself this way, or at all. The puddles he had drank from were too murky and bitter-tasting
for the rogue to admire.

From here, he pressed on, unaware of the thin surface of ice being what it was and only just capable to hold his frame. Other wolves, full-grown
and tribal might have watched him from shore, but the moment they leaned their weight onto the ice and heard it snap, they backed off. There
was the occasional grown and shudder of the ice plates shifting beneath him, but Zlýpes thought nothing of it. His head was in the clouds for the
first time since he was a pup and able to dream. Ahead of him was a flat world, a blank canvas, one he planned to make his own.

OOC: Decided to do some photo-manips over that "huskies on water" and put Zlýpes there doing some soul-searching. BIGGER VERSION .