Many tales are told by the hunter. But this one, however, is seen through the eyes of the wolf.

His name is Shadow, a rogue, if you will. With the darkest fur ever seen on a wolf, and eyes of ice. Although his fur is dark, his heart is darker.

Dusk has fallen over the woodlands of this small, cold-striken island off the coast of Alaska. A few night hunters have settled in a small clearing in the thickest part of the woods. A bad choice. The men talked contently among themslves, feasting on their newly-hunted rabbit. Something was stalking among the shadows...a blood-thirsty killer.

Shadow stopped and peered through the branches. The men continued their calm conversation, with words of no meaning to him. "An easy meal", Shadow rasped to himself. Stepping closer, one man shot back to investigate a noise he had just heard. Shadow stopped dead. I must have stepped on branch, Shadow thought to himself as the man turned back to the others. Careful not to make another sound, he inched closer. At this point, Shadow was about three yards away from a clean kill.

Shadow exploded out of the bushes, makeng a direct target for the closest man. He had the man pinned to the ground, and started for his neck. But something hit Shadow on his left shoulder, throwing him off his to-be meal. He jumped to his paws to find one of the hunters pointing a gun at him.