It was a frigid winter morning amid the gelid peaks of the mountains. The Northwind blew icy gusts that would freeze most creatures to the core. Icicles, suspended from tree branches, tinkled and rattled as they collided in the tempestuous bursts of the snow squall.

Garran sat curled in a ball under a young pine tree. The tree was small by pine standards-- about twenty-five feet high--and was covered in thick, white snow. However, the low-hanging pine needles helped create a barrier that not only protected Garran against the biting cold winds but produced a dome effect to bounce back heat from his own body to help keep him warm. Being from these mountains, Garran was used to sudden virulent changes in weather. In order to preserve body heat as he waited out the storm, Garran lay motionless in the small hole he had dug out in the snow just before the storm had hit.

His thick black and white fur that covered him head to foot helped Garran stay warm in such situations but one could never be too careful in this region. Negligence led to nonexistence in these crags. Even though Garran’s tribe had evolved to thrive in these unforgiving conditions, a single oversight in one’s surroundings could have grave consequences.

Garran was a wolfkin. Long since, had it been, that his kind learned to walk upright on two legs. But the Darkfrosts still maintained many qualities of their ancestors. His kind had evolved from that of wolves. But he and his kinsman found that they could still communicate with wolves in the wild when the need struck.

Garran had two large silver eyes, a long snout ending in a pointed wolf-like nose, and two triangular ears that protruded from the top of his furry head. His light colored irises were naturally resistant to the brightness of the sunbathed snow, their silvery hue protecting his eyes by reflecting the blinding whiteness. His elongated snout was perfectly built for picking up the faintest of odors either lying on the ground or carried in the air. And his cuspated, concave ears sitting high atop his head were the quintessential instrument for picking up the slightest sound. These key characteristics, handed down from his lupine ancestors, bore him an advantage for spotting prey (or foe) in this harsh, alpine tundra climate.

Garran had been tracking a herd of deer when the blizzard interrupted his hunt. Now that the storm had abated, he dug himself out from the snowdrift and stood, stretching out his muscular body to his full height of nearly six and a half feet. Brushing the snow off of his furry head, he then twisted to the side and shook out his bushy tail that was caked with wet snow. He glanced down at his leather armor and wiped the ice and snow away, then flicked the tall collar of the vestment to try and straighten it as best he could.

"This will have to be conditioned again so it doesn’t ruin,” Garran growled to himself with a long sigh in his gruff voice.

Similar to his tribe, Garran had a double coat of fur that was monochromatic. Dissimilar to his tribe, however, Garran’s black and white fur was completely symmetric. His right side was as white as the snowdrifts he now stood on. His left side, the color of mountain coal.

Garran took great pride in the uniqueness of his fur. Even though every Darkfrost wolfkin technically had a unique fur pattern, his was distinguishable because of its symmetry. Many of the Darkfrosts bore black and white swirls, swooshes, spikes, curls, spots and even some stripes in rare cases. Each pattern different in its own way, yet always bearing the same two colors: black and white.

Because of this distinctive pattern (and due to his mild fascination with carrying a sense of style), Garran had gone to his village’s tanner when he was younger and made a special request to have a leather jerkin and breeches crafted with the same bilateral pattern of black and white. The only difference being, the colors were reversed. The black side of the leather vest and leggings was affixed to white fur side of his body and the white side of the leather, to the black fur.

Now, as he stood for a moment taking in his surroundings, Garran’s different-colored ears twitched in the wind and his broad, black and pink nose huffed plumes of frosty breath as he listened and sniffed for the slightest nuance of sound or smell in the vicinity. The snow had changed the landscape slightly and his previous footprints for when he approached had been completely erased by the new-fallen snow. This did not deter him, however. The wolfkin found his bearings and began to walk atop the deep snow drifts back towards home; his thick hind paws perfect for traversing this terrain.

Wolfkin walked upright on their hind legs and had hands with prehensile thumbs like that of a human. Unlike their primitive counterparts, wolfkin had developed their own patterns of speech over the last many centuries. Though the Darkfrost Clan’s hunting parties still utilized wolf-like vocalizations while searching for food, they had been gifted the art of speech by their patron deity: The Warden.

As Garran negotiated the cold, snow-covered rocks of the mountain, a sound echoed off to his left that gave him pause. It sounded like an animal, though not one he had heard before. It was almost like the howl of a coyote or wolf, but more broken. It sounded almost like a faint laugh.

Garran stood for a moment, waiting to hear the noise again so he could get a better idea of what it was or where it had come from. Perhaps it was just sounds echoing off the snow drifts playing tricks on him. He had been out all night, after all.

Garran had left the village the previous afternoon to hunt for food. His plan had been to follow his normal game trail that afternoon, double back around dinner time and be home by sundown. Typically, by now he would have an elk, a mountain goat, or at least a hare to bring back to the village. Unfortunately, that was not at all how his night played out. Now that the storm had abated, however, he was ready to get home and get warm.

Hearing nothing else after a moment, he continued towards Darkfrost Village. Garran trudged on for about another mile in the thick, blinding snow and was about two miles from his settlement now. His legs ached with fatigue and cold. He was weary and hungry. And now, because of the blizzard, his hunting trip had been unsuccessful. He rounded a small group of snow-covered pines that marked the final leg of his trek homeward, when he heard the broken howl once again.

The call was coming from directly ahead of him, amid the crop of trees. This time, it was answered with a series of grunts from somewhere behind him. It was definitely some type of animal but what type, Garran was not sure. Whatever these creatures were, Garran was sure of two things: there were more than one of these creatures, and they definitely had him surrounded...