He does not live on frozen tundras
Where the north wind gusts the diamond dust
To sting and pelt with howling gales
Forever in the fading dusk.

He does no trail the ptarmigans
Through the blinding blankets of snow
Footsteps muffled by wintry silence
His teeth will not clench 'round his foes.

His amber eyes do not stare out
Across the stretches of wilderness
He has no fur for the wind to stroke
No fangs to bare in his bitterness

Yet he prowls the city at night
Gazing at the helpless and weak
His hunger runs through his blood
Phased, he stalks the crowded streets.

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Glacian, in the year 586 AF.