Charles was out hunting alone, hence being nearly the best men in the camp capable of hunting. And the hardest worker in camp, no less. Someone's gotta do it.

His dark eyes scanned over the ground: the sun feebling down onto his vivid figure through cracks of branches, perching down to inspect a patch of fur; something's got to be close around here... but what? He's never seen tracks like this.

Another few steps by, and he heard deep growls that could make the spines of grown men shiver. His sights slid about... before landing on an abomination of a wolf right behind him — thereby making it something he's never seen.

"Easy, easy." The hunter began murmuring with a nervous undertone, taking cautious steps back. What was he to do in this situation? What even was this monstrous canine infront of him?