He hadn't known what he sought when he left the place of his birth, the place he had grown up in, and the only place he had known for so, so long. He only knew he was seeking something, and that he would know what it was when he saw it. That drive saw him wander for what amounted to lifetimes for other races, during which time saw the young, somewhat naive man grow into a stoic, steadfast warrior. Often he took up work as a mercenary, a sword for hire, helping those who could not fight for themselves, hoping that, by doing so, he could finally find what he had been seeking for so long. No matter how many small villages he defended, troops of guardsmen raiding bandit camps he assisted, or any other myriad of jobs he took, he could not find it. The longer he searched, the more restless the beast within became, all too aware that it had a role to fulfil, but unaware of what it was. It made him short tempered and set him on edge, until, like a hunted animal, he fled civilisation altogether, forsaking the trappings of stifling codes of conduct. All of the caution his parents had instilled in him he threw to the wind, and embraced his bestial side.
For years, he ran as a direwolf, forsaking the more humanoid form for his quadruped self. Even roaming the wilds, that elusive something eluded him, always urging him forwards, but always just out of reach. At night he howled, as if this intangible feeling would respond, and show him where to go. Frustration burned, driving him ever onwards, until he was nothing more than a maddened wolf, running day and night on his mad search. He knew there was somewhere he had to be, something he had to do, if only he could find it…! Almost gone was the stoic, composed mercenary, buried deep within the heart of the massive, roan coloured wolf.
During the Wars, legends began to spread of a huge wolf, suddenly appearing during a battle and tearing into warriors, with little regard as to whom was fighting whom, and why. He seemed to fight simply for the joy of fighting, though it did little to ease the longing, and so the wolf continued to roam.
It was during the height of the Wars that he arrived at The Glade. The first step onto the soft, lush grass was akin to coming home after a long time away, and the wolf felt some of that tension ease. He stepped forwards, and that was when he met Her. Their first meeting was a clash of wills and strength, he scarred her face, she took his right eye, but in the end, they came to an understanding. That they were not enemies, that instead they should be allies, and that the harm they had dealt to each other was in error. She defended the Glad, and he defended Her. They were united by the Glade and their devotion to it, and this spread to become a devotion to each other, and though the rage and fury still burned within the wolf, it burned in defence of all that mattered to him in the world.
The Wars were long past, and the Glade had flourished under their care with only minor happenings to mar its tranquillity. Still this was no reason to become complacent, and so he had stalked the boundaries of their home, listened to the chatter of the animals who shared it with them, and ensured all was well within their domain. She was attuned to this land, and it was bound to her in such a way that she would know of any danger or mishap, but still her wolf was vigilant. Even though he walked towards her as a man, there was that same restless, predatory grace to his motions, that sharp gleam in his eye that showed he was watching and ready for anything.
Hunkering down on his haunches beside her, he grunted affirmatively. They made for an odd couple, her slim, graceful, and beautiful, him, rugged, scarred, and hulking, but they belonged to the other, and to the Glade.
"Nothing much to see," he said, before sitting down properly and pulling her into his side. He didn't use words to express how he felt, had never been very good with them, and instead simply relished having her close.
"How about here?"