Such strange eyes
The first words that escaped Killian's caretakers summed up the first half of his life. This white-pawed wolf was the only one that survived when his litter was birthed, the other having been stillborn with deep holes where their eyes would have been. No one knows why Killian looks the way he does, the spitting image of his father all the way down to the small white stripe on his back, but with eyes that shine brighter than the moon.
He learned quite quickly as a pup, mastering the arts of craftsmanship and stalking before he was even an adolescent. He never did speak though, from the moment he crawled his way onto the damp grass, he never uttered a sound. The mewling cries of a newly-born pup were absent, so were the his experimental howls. All throughout his life, and the other puppies shunned him, surely unnerved by the heavy silence that seemed to coat his fur like morning dew.
As he grew up within the pack, they never became more attached to him. He was simply too strange. But this didn't seem to mind Killian. The wolf went about his own business, slipping away under the over of nightfall and coming back with pray far too large for a single wolf to take down. Never eating himself, he stays around the edge of the territory, never engaging in pack discussions. What strange eyes . . .
