The tale of the rogues

Conan

It was the rogue that had seemingly led the attack on the Nightingale pack a few days ago. He stepped into the dim light, his features becoming clearer.

The scars on his face told a story of battles and survival. As I studied them, mine began to itch and I checked my fists to hold myself back from scratching at them. His eyes, however, held a fierce determination and confidence.

"Who are you?" I demanded, keeping my stance firm. Despite the tension in the air, my senses were alert, ready for any sudden moves. The other wolves that I had spotted during my scan remained hidden, probably waiting for a signal before they stepped out.

The rogue chuckled, a low, mocking sound that grated on my nerves. "You can call me Shade. The Rogue Alpha, as they like to say."

The gall of this guy. I thought to myself wondering about the amount of boldness mixed with craziness he had to have to call himself the Rogue Alpha.

Rogues were werewolves that had either been kicked out of their pack or l