Long, wide plains. Almost as far as the eyes can see, with mountain in the distance. Delmont Crave was returning from Essyrn, but looking at him you would not know him as Delmont Crave. Delmont Crave is a man of about 5'8", he wears a worn weather coat and has blue-gray eyes. Everything he carries with him has a purpose, even the heavy-duty chain he wore around his neck. Those who know him know that he likes a good rum or brandy once in awhile, and is not adverse to a soft bed and a warm bath when one is readily available. But those who know him are few and far between, and most who meet him would say that he is of a good sort, but distanced and soft.
Even the softest cloth can conceal a dagger.
Running across the plains now was a wolf, a huge wolf with a chain around it's neck. It was mostly a light gray, with a white underside and some cinnamon colored fur on his shoulders. It's lope was sure and stead, and it payed little attention to the bushes and grasses it thundered through. The wolf was Delmont Crave's other form, because when Delmont was ten years old he was sitting outside at the wrong time in the wrong place. He was bitten and the next full moon he changed into a wolf.
over time, he was able to break the moon's hold on him, as evidenced but the fact that the sun was just rising to the right of him as he ran. It cast a reddish light, and it was breath taking--but Delmont payed it no mind. He was submersed in the pattern of his lope. He loves running, the air pounding trough his lungs, the ground beneath him, and nothing else. No thoughts of not having a Pack or a Mate. Nothing but him and the wind and the ground