[center][I][colour=dimgray]- -[/colour]  [Colour=Cadetblue]T H E   W O L F   R E T U R N S[/colour]  [colour=dimgray]- -[/colour][/I][/center]
[center][img]http://orig05.deviantart.net/dc57/f/2014/249/2/2/divider_550x30_by_daniyalisatya-d7y8210.png[/img][/center]

[colour=Gainsboro][I]"Ahh! Dofni!"[/I][/colour][colour=silver][I] the shout echoed throughout the mountain pass. Having stopped in a relatively open area, the man tried his best to scrape a branch of the many spines that dotted its length. Unable to avoid the pricks his fingers took so begrudgingly, he continued to swear in a language only heard in the far east. He quickly gave up, throwing the branch with all the might he could muster, he watched it spin through the air and down the path that brought him here. With one last mumble of abuse he stepped down from the snowy embankment that lined the roughly outlined track, and dusted down his fur coat. Pure snow trickled down all around him on the thin mountain air. He exhaled what warmth he could into his palms, rubbing his gloved hands together before bending at the knees to pick up a much thicker stick shaped into a rough walking stick. Noticeably cracked and splintered two-thirds of the way down, he tested it one last time only to fall forward as it separated completely. Anger turned to sorrow as he held his arms out in a plea of mercy. His sigh was as visible as it was audible, a puff of steam as if lifting the lid on a boiling pot. Shuffling his fur rucksack into a comfortable position he prepared to leave, but something stopped him. It was faint, carried by the wind, but it was loud enough to make him turn and listen for it again. Is it....a baby? 

The man thick with layers of fur, followed his ears through the juvenile pine trees. He followed intently to an area he had not seen before. Everything seemed more...tranquil. The wind's whine couldn't be heard, the trees did not creak and shudder in the cold. It was a small, remote reprieve. At its center sat a pile of stone, purposefully built as if to cover something. He could hear the cries of a baby no more, and as he stared at the stones he gained a feeling of nervousness he was not used to. 
Dropping his bag to the floor he slowly drew a small knife. He approached, intent on uncovering the secrets the stones held but he would not get there in time. A hand burst from the rocks, shattering several. The mans grip loosened, dropping the knife he looked on through a sudden paralysis. Muscle, sinew and tendons snapped together and started to form around the exposed bone of a hand he thought too big to be human. Whatever he had found, he wasn't sure he would live to tell another soul.

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Stride by stride he trod a painful path. His arms twisted, cracking into place. Nerves grew like roots into his newly formed flesh, forcing slight cries of release. His exposed ribs were wrapped in the reddish-grey of taut muscle weaving together like a wicker basket. With each step his form returned, with each step his footprints deepened. 
The village fixed in the mountains shadow was near. At its edge a small girl bashed a frozen bucket of water, trying to release the fish stuck at its base. Hearing steps she could only stare at the monstrous being that passed her by. In utter silence she was glared at by a single naked eyeball endeavoring to stay in it's socket. Skin quickly gripped the cheek bone and clawed its way across his face. His features began to take shape. 

Laughter and cheers rang out from the largest hut in the village. Smoke rose from it's single chimney and a sweet smell of honey ale hung in the air. The doors, bared with a thin piece of wood, exploded open. Men stood quickly, watching the hulking mass enter the chiefs hut. Silhouetted from sight it approached the hearth at its center, catching the last shred of skin to fall into place in its light. Whomever this man was no-one was willing to challenge his interruption, crouching under the thatch roof they could only stare in hope he was not here for a fight. 
An aged man at the back of the hut dropped his simple horn-carved cup.[/i][/colour] 
[I][colour=Gainsboro]"The wolf..."[/colour] [colour=silver]he mumbled, the swords spilling over his aged, trembling lips.[/colour] 
[colour=Gainsboro]"The wolf returns!"[/colour] [colour=silver]he exclaimed. Widening the eyes of anyone who heard. The man, the myth, the legend. Norco Khan stood in the village of his childhood. A dazed look in his eyes.[/colour] 
[colour=Gainsboro]"Where's my Axe?"[/colour][/i]

[center][img]http://orig05.deviantart.net/dc57/f/2014/249/2/2/divider_550x30_by_daniyalisatya-d7y8210.png[/img][/center]