My pelt hides me in the snow, and only my paw tracks remain.


Endlessly running through the bare wintry forest of dead and dying trees.


A name. A time. A season.


I am living one.

All the others are gone, I am the last one, moving through the winter like a ghost.

The grey sky above me rains down snow, but I don't have time to notice.

A gunshot.

The deep baying of hounds.

Quick and loud, they come after me, with fangs and fire both.

They hunt for me.

I leap over rocks, Over fallen logs and frozen streams,

But although I run, I know that there is no hope left.

They have driven me away from my home.

Where I grew up, where I was born, where my family was slayed in their sleep.

And only I survived.

Another gunshot, but this time it hits the target.

I scream an unearthly scream.

I fall, my pelt stained red,

And my pale blue eyes close for the last time.

I was the white wolf.

Last of my kind, killed on the snow, on a cold wintry day.

Remember me.