The cold sets in, few will be able to survive. That's the beauty of life. Only the strong survive, as I do. All the storms, the blizzards, the ice, the cold, have yet to drag me down, so many years, and somehow still stronger then them all.

No one dares enter into the cold, few venture to hunt, and few are lucky enough to come back alive. Those rabbits, will lead you to your death if you aren't careful. I've seen entire packs fall to those rabbits traps, the white hares are not to be angered or hunted, for they had been hunted and decided no more after they came to the mountain. They became trappers, instead of the trapped.

I venture out, my hunting begins. For me its easier for I was born in the snow, and have lived within the storms ever since. But the wind catches my attention, the smell is one of iron and salt, one of blood. I train my ears for sounds on the wing and hear the faintest sound of human yelling. Normally I would ignore this and leave them to their fates, but the other sent within the wind Is one not from the mountain, it is one from below. These people do not belong here.

No animal would dare head towards a human camp, for it would mean death for said animal, but here I am pacing straight for the sources of the unnatural scents on the wind, and the sound that says one should stay away.

The snow comes harder then it should, this is the type of storms humans avoid, the ones that can kill, ones that will kill. The yelling grows louder as I place closer, with my animalistic sense of hearing its as if I am right there. At least until...

It Stops.

Only the wind howls in my ears now, whatever they were yelling about now doesn't matter, the dead don't and cant complain to the living. Besides they travel to my mountain, a mountain where humans are not to make it out alive, as the creatures from below, come here to seek refuge. In a place humans will die if they dare take what is not theirs.

Eventually, I do see their camp, or what was once their camp. Which now stands as a blood mess of a slaughter field, reminds me of below the mountain. This mess was not cause by animals for animals would leave nothing left but a stain on the snow and these bodies still lay in the open. Not to mention the sent trail that was left, not one of animals but ones of humans.

Wandering around the human came, what was once a human camp, a faint sound of snow being compressed comes from a human den, nothing but a wall of pelts that keep the cold out and the heat in.

Pushing through the hide that covers the entrance there's something I was not expecting to see.

A child. A human child, pacing through the den. Or at least was until I entered.

Now I may not like people, I tend to despise humans in general. But I'm not one to kill a child human or no. Besides, this child is covered in blood and oozing fear, mice don't even give off that much fear of even myself. I watch it shake, they're cold, scarred, soaked in blood, utterly terrified, standing in front of the largest wolf he will ever see. At this rate, this child will die. Not by me but by the mountain, for humans can not survive here, and that is why we are here.

The better part of me takes whole, just perhaps I still haven't forgotten my time below, but I cannot let another child die. Not again.

Walking over to the shaking child still frozen with fear, I nudge them with my muzzle, that causes them to look over at me, with a look of absolute fear plastered on their face. Sometimes I forget just how bigger I am to a regular wolf.

Looking at this child I do something I haven't done in a long time, nor thought I ever would again do, for I haven't done this since I had travelled to the bottom of the mountain for the first and last time. I speak, the human language I had wished I had forgotten. Perhaps I didn't want to forget.

Of course the child is shocked, and also sceptical. But with due time we begin to chat, over little things, mundane things, things you would converse with a person you had just met.

But with time he does tell me more, he tells me about his home, about his family, about his adventures, about the strange men who wanted to lead them up the mountain even when they said no, he tells me how those who didn't listen where kill, and how his mother was no longer in the world of the living, as many of their village weren't. And how what we see outside it the end result. Changing the subject he tells me something I haven't heard in a long time, he told me his dreams, his plans for the future, and his end goal. The more I listened the more I remembered, for this dream had sounded very familiar, it sounded like His, a dream of greatness.

It was here in this tent where I decided, I made a great choice that day, and I had made up my mind...

I will make this child a King.