Silently I sit watching the massacre that is taking place below me. What fools these beings are, they fight for things which are not rightfully theirs but, still they fight and shed blood over such pitiful things. I use to be like that many years ago, I use to fight for thing that were not mine. I would fight for them just to say I have them but now, I see how power-hungry I use to be and I look back and I pity myself , such a foul creature I use to be as a human, governed by human need and wants, but now as a wolf I see no need for those things. So, silently I sit with my Bronze and red fur collecting snow and my breath comes out as fog. With my clawed hand closed around my staff I watch and grow excited and disgusted at the same time. Oh, how the bloody battle field excites me and the fear of the men gets my adrenalin going, they fear never seeing their wives and children, never being able to hold their child again and grow old with their wives and die happy. Others, fight for greed and others for self worth. Still others are there for the blood lust and the sheer pleasure they get for cutting someone in half and watching their blade run red with their opponents blood.
I watch with my amber eyes and wonder. Was I ever like this that I would kill for the joy of it? The answer was yes. I killed because I could. I killed because I had the power to do so and now I don’t even have to try very hard to kill one of these humans. I laugh at them, and pity them, but somewhere I envy them. Deep within myself I envy them. I envy them because they have what I don’t  they have lovers and children and I don’t. I have tried to embrace the wolf in my and become it but I cannot do it. I am what my people call a Lone Wolf, bound to a fate of loneliness and wanting. When I come into contact with others they shy away or lash out. Of course I am not on to back down from a challenge and I end up killing the offender and thus I have earned the  title One Who Strikes and Kills. That is the only name they know for me not my true name which is Adelfos which is Greek for “brother”.
Finally I get up from my seat and  walk away, for I have seen enough of this carnage.  My tail, which is laced with black, red, and bronze, trails behind me. My clawed paws leave prints in their wake, my buck-skin loin-cloth rubs against my inner thigh for the wind is blowing and with it sends more snow. The fur on my chest, which is as white as the snow that is falling, ruffles in the wind. My mane of red and bronze hair blows behind me as I walk with my staff, that has carvings of  intricate designs that I did myself. I continue to walk along the path that was worn by gypsies and trades to a clearing that holds within it my home. A cave on the ridge.
I walk to the path I take to my cave but then I hear the howl of a wolf and I stop and cock my ears to catch from which direction the call came it came from somewhere in the East. I was facing North so it was coming from my right. I sniffed the air and the new arrival was down-wind from me. Just because I did not have a lot of territory does not mean that I will give it up with out investigating  who or what is invading it. Stealthily I padded to were the scent came from and I came upon another werewolf two to be exact and one was injured and the other was trying to help it. I watched them for a while and decided to go to the and offer help.