Lamb wasn't born with this name, in fact he hadn't had a proper name until he bolted from the heinous creatures who claimed to be the highest order of religious wolves, they had called him "Lucor", a dirty word for those smutted with black fur. Lamb wasn't a handsome wolf, but he wasn't plain-looking either, his light blue eyes were rimmed with black, like a panda's, and the top of his nose had a dash of black as well, the rest of his face was a creamy tan, as was the top half of his body, save for a short hood of black that fell to his shoulders. His underside was white, the only saving grace he had with his previous captors. He was muscled, strong looking, and strong he was, having lived on his own for ten years Lamb was forced to create his own arsenal. The large brute strode into the winter-logged lands, noting the small amount of snow that graced the ground, he really hated winter but at least it was soon to be over, spring was his favourite season. Spring brought on new life, of prey and hunters alike, spring meant longevity, spring meant he would survive another year. This winter had been particularly harsh on him, normally a spectacular ambush hunter, Lamb found himself scavenging from the kills of bears and other megafauna, he loathed doing this because of the traumatic memories it resurfaced for him, but even he was more concerned about self-preservation than the dramatics of his past. Another reason a pack would be a good idea, even if only for a short while, food was always abundant, even for the lowest-ranking members, he had realised that in his travels quite readily.

He paused from his steady movement, standing just within the pack's scent-boundary, the rolling hills around him giving him pleasant chills. He didn't know why he had chosen this pack to come to, he knew there were several in the area, another curiosity, so many packs seemingly living in peace in such a small territory...an anomaly from what he had witnessed before arriving here, but none-the-less it was even more appealing that way, this place was so sociologically interesting, he was on edge just waiting to be greeted by the foreigners who ran this land. He wondered if there would be a dialect, if there would be a culture all its own, if he had come some place magical...the idea made him smile, his eyes lighting up even more if that were possible, the gold around his pupil shining brightly against the pale outer iris.

As he stood there, a soft wail of wind tugged at his ears, the scent that only cold weather brought flared into his nostril and he basked in this revolutionary moment. This would be the day he proved the elders wrong.