He saw her collapse; he had been following her for an hour, mulling what to do. Keen senses heard the wreck from miles away, the wolf thinking whomever it was that had been traveling foolish for doing so in such weather.
The snow came in all directions from what it looked like, and even a bulky frame such as his was hidden in its thick cover as he traveled towards the source of the noise. What he found wasn't hopeful, the car left tattered from its impromptu passage over the cliffside. It contained two bodies, long past the point of help, but what he found most curious was the tracks in the snow headed off into the wilds.
He saw her after a short while of following them, his larger frame built for such harsh travels but hers barely built for forest trails. Pangs of remorse flecked through him for just the shortest of moments when he saw the girl, the image of the two in the car there and gone. He shouldn't interfere... This was there own world. But when he saw her collapse, he was there and she was gone.
She awoke sometime later on a ratty couch in what appeared to be a hut. Flecks of snow filtered through the smattering of cracks in the wood along the walls, but for the most part the cold of the outside world was battered back by the fire roaring in the obviously hastily made fire, the cracked and broken chair to its side telling the tale of its fiery fate. But the one thing that stood out the most was the form standing opposite the fire, a large red cloak obscuring everything but the movement of arms stirring whatever it was behind it. An odd bulge protruded nearer its base, sifting slowly from side to side.
At first, the red cloaked figure seemed small, but then as that red form seemed to grow, it became obvious that it had been hunched over, stirring something at its front. It grew like a blossoming flower, towering much higher before the top of the hooded cloak slid free, thick-furred black ears twitching. The hood began to turn, but the broad muzzle revealing itself to the side spoiled what it was that was wearing that billowing cloak well before the furred features of his face could be seen. Amber eyes flickered in the light of the fire, at last starring at the now horror-filled features of the girl laying on the couch. He knew it would come well before she actually screamed, but instead of a panicked run back out into the snow, the tired little thing simply passed out, much to his relief. The large wolf sighed...
"...kids."
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Sullivan is the source of many a tale. The wolf has lived for generations, after all, so the fact that a little rumor or two has started about him shouldn't really be unexpected. But the 'Big Bad Wolf' and the 'Wolf Man' stories that were generated about him? Those he could have done without since they resulted in a bit of trouble for him that has lasted for about as long as he has been alive, resulting in a scar or two.
Sullivan is what you would call a 'bogeyman', or rather one of the original founders of the bogeyclan. He helped found the world that all bogey now call home, but didn't stick around due to differences from an encounter of his...
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The large wolf stands tall, the tips of his ears just barely clearing the 9' 5" barrier. His fur is a dark black and rather thick and full, but there are patches where it thins in various spots on his body which are indiscernible except for the one on his chest. This particular scar was larger than the rest, crossing down and to the left just over his heart, disturbing the fur just enough for one to see clear to his skin should he be facing them. His tail was as long as an arm, thicker nearer the base and tapering out at the tip in the usual wolfish fashion. The pads of his paws seemed to be mottled in color, a grey main color flecked with dots of pink on both his hands and feet.
His face could be considered handsome for a wolf, the large amber eyes at the base of his thick black muzzle soft in their gaze. His ears seemed larger than they should be, 'whiskers' of fur sticking out from their tips. His nosepad was a lighter tone of skin, a grey instead of black, pocked with dot of pink just above his left nostril, which seemed to give the illusion that it too was larger than the average nosepad. And when those ebony lips of his curled into a smile, it was quite clear that his mouth was big as well, and this was no illusion.
Wolves had large jaws, and Sullivan was no exception. One yawn would allow whomever was looking to see into another fleshy world. His teeth shone white, the slightest bits of yellowing showing through due to his wandering nature but otherwise the sharp enamel fencing was well kept. It held in a broad pink tongue, its surface pebbled and wide and glimmering with saliva that seemed to relish in reapplying itself in the form of glimmering ropes from a surrounding palate of mottled pink and black flesh that naturally formed a light pattern in the shape of an arrow pointing back towards a dark, widening hole of a crimson throat, his uvula the lone guardian standing stalwart at its entrance, ready to greet any that pass by.
For clothes, he wore only a thick flowing cloak of red, hooded and large enough to cover his form but beginning to tatter. No matter how dirty the wolf may look, the cloak always appeared to be kept clean and immaculate. His only possession, it was well cared for and covered him enough for decency... BUT should one be curious enough, or their head was level with his waist, they'd be able to see the furred black sheath of his as well as the two orbs beneath. One better be ready for a grumpy wolf, however, if you go stealing peaks.
Small Gallery of other Sullivan pictures
