Violante sighed as an older female wolf walked into the section of the cave she was bound to. The female was exquisite, definitely an alpha, for she radiated a sense of power and regality. Dark as the night, with violet eyes that glinted like stars, she was stunning. Violante herself was something to gaze at; her reddish-amber coat gleamed in the sunlight, showing off caramel-yellow colored highlights. Most of the males said she looked like autumn personified. And Violante had a personality to match. Her initial behavior was sweet, warm-hearted, and kind, the metaphorical last warm rays of summer.

Other wolves, from different packs, who did not know her very well, thought she was sweet, friendly, and maybe even a bit naïve. When she was around the wolves from other packs, she acted almost as if she were a pup again, bubbling with boistous enery and joy for life. She would run and jump, snap at butteflies, chase the the mice that ran from her with such delicious terror, and fump and try ti catch the birds that flew high above her head.

But those of her own pack, those who knew her well, and that one wolf who knew her inside and out, like a favorite book, they saw through her façade.

Inside, her heart was of the cold, harsh winds that came in the late fall, the harsh, chilling gales that seemed to rip the fur right off your body, and steal away all the warmth, right from your very bones. Her sweet voice could turn harsh as nails in a second, and her friendly demeanor could harden, becoming so brittle you were afraid she would break and send shards of glass screaming towards you in a hostile assault. Her small body that once upon a time had seemed charming to other wolves could turn into a small, lithe killing machine in seconds.

And the dark Alpha that stood before her knew this.