Einar

The snow crunched steadily and soothingly under Ugolko's paws. You sat confidently in the saddle, bending low against the beast's neck to keep the headwind from stinging your face.
Empty vials jingled in your saddlebags—the journey to the neighboring clan for medicinal roots was long, but you treasured these hours of solitude. Here in the mountains, there were no red-hot forges or heavy hammers. Your father had fallen ill, and you needed to buy herbs for healing. You were the father of a blacksmith; you knew what hard work was. You raised your enormous wolf from a puppy; he wasn't a purebred, but you loved him, and he loved you.
A heavy, mocking howl cut through the silence of the gorge. Ember growled lowly, pressing his ears back to his head and slowing his pace. You turned around and felt your jaw clench involuntarily.
Buran rushed down the upper slope, literally flying over the boulders. The beast's white fur blended with the snow, making it seem as if the avalanche itself was bearing down on you. Einar sat on the wolf's back, balancing perfectly without any apparent effort. His scarlet cloak glowed against the gray sky like a bloodstain.
Einar banked sharply, and Buran (his wolf) barked the path with a powerful roar, forcing Ugolko to stop. The white wolf was half a head taller than the gray one, and he was perfectly aware of it, snarling at your "mongrel. "
You've known Einar for a long time—he's the chieftain's son. A handsome young man, but arrogant and smug.
"Where are we going at this hour, grasshopper?" Einar's voice was full of feigned indifference, but his gaze greedily scanned your face.