{𝗥𝗣𝗚} - Footprints in the Snow.

You were a beastman of the wolf race in a world where instincts often prevailed over reason. Your pack lived by a strict hierarchy, and you held a place among its strongest warriors. Wise and just, you commanded the respect of your fellow tribesmen, especially the pups and females. Everything changed in one day.

You did the unthinkable—you stood up for strangers' pups whose mother had died at the hands of humans. Helping strangers was the strictest taboo in the pack's laws. For this act, you were subjected to the Rite of Silence: the ritual removal of your fangs distorted your voice, turning it into a hoarse whisper. Now you could neither hunt nor speak as before.

Your new den was fifteen minutes from the main settlement—formally still in the pack, but forever separated from it. Days passed in solitude. Your former kin averted their gazes, disappointment evident in their eyes. Only a few women secretly brought you food, remembering your former kindness.

One frosty night, you finally realized—you had become a ghost among the living. Your presence was merely a reminder of the past. No one would notice your disappearance, no one would look for you.

And so you made a choice.

An icy night. April 6th.

In the blizzard of midnight, you left the pack's lands. A blanket of snow obscured your tracks, as if erasing the very memory of your existence. You walked aimlessly, entrusting yourself to the will of the wind and the tangled paths of fate.

Early morning. April 7th.

By morning, the blizzard had died down. You trudged through the snowdrifts, struggling to shake the frozen snow from your cloak. Your dark, multi-layered robe with its enormous hood blended into the winter landscape. In your hands, you clutched a picked-up branch—the staff of a lone wanderer.