FA+
Shop
3350
Views
Views
210
Favorites
Favorites
Category
Artwork (Traditional) / Animal related (non-anthro)
Species Wolf
Size 1280 x 1258
File Size 1.11 MB
Report this content
★
More from Wielder
Along The Broken Road
She ran from the East into the West, forever chasing the setting sun it seemed. The young wolfess who had been an Alpha, now fallen from Grace, just days before ran like she'd never before. Not even during her Initiatory Hunt. Not even during the times she'd chased those brave or stupid enough to challenge her rank. She was a creature possessed of the fear of the persistence of memories, and she could hear their ghostly pawprints closing in behind her no matter how far she ran, how much her pawpads cracked and bled across the changing landscape, or how much she tried to lose herself in the freedom of a wolf's normally effortless lope.
And thank the Silver One above for blessing her people at their creation for such an effortless gait that allowed them to sometimes run for moons at a time to evade danger. Though she knew no physical foes were tracking her movements, when she would finally collapse after endless miles of running, when sleep caught up to her, the dreams would begin...
...her mate's face turning away from her and to the beta female she'd grown up with and trained to be her direct subordinate. Almost like a sister but somehow closer. The two of them together at the head of the pack standing against her. An arrogant affair brought to light and worshiped by the rest of the pack including her own mother.
"He is a strong leader, Feather," her mother's fearful and nagging voice echoed in her head. In her sleep, her ears twisted back into the shape of fall leaves. "His Choice is Law. Accept it with grace. She has offered you the position of Captain of the Hunt..."
"Never! I won't gnaw on the scraps of that bitch's unwanted meal!" Feather heard her week-old words ring through a snarl. "Loyalty should come before pack politics, Mother." That word was a verbal sneer, and it would be the last time she would call the wretch before her such a thing. "My mate, my best friend, now my mother...all have cast me aside as some pariah for their own interests, and I refuse to carry my tail lower for any of you."
The dream always ended with the final brawl between her and the new Alpha Female. She gave the bitch a scar she would forever wear across her lovely face before she turned and leaped up the boulders that framed her would-have-been-den before uttering a final victory howl and racing towards the boundaries of the lands she would have forever called home.
She would awaken to the sound of her former mate's warcry. His female had been dishonored, she would be pursued as far as the packland's borders. After that, whoever caught her...coyotes, dogs, wolves, ravens...even vultures...could have her.
That was worse than a death knell in her ears. Once that part of the dream entered her thoughts, she would shakily stand to her white and auburn paws and run once more towards the coming Autumn. She loved Autumn. She was quiet and reserved by nature, and the colors of the leaves that fell matched her pelt and allowed her to move and rest unseen. She didn't know what her future held, if anything at all. She couldn't bring herself to think of a pack or what place she would have in it. The lonely feeling of never having one again was of more comfort really. Feather was a small Eastern Timber Wolf, and found it fairly easy to survive even at her hectic pace across the land on prey no larger than a foolish hare who had thought his zigzagging path clever enough to evade her.
Once the crunch of Fall leaves under her feet began to almost disappear into forest of evergreens and moss, she finally felt that the surroundings were different enough from what she was used to. Her sore but light feet hopped and tiptoed over ancient green roots and lichen covered boulders towards the sound of a river. The promise of fish racing upstream drew her in, and she was hopeful until she found that there was already claim laid to that part of the river.
She recognized his kind from her part of the land. A bird of a predatory nature but not like the hawk and owl she saw more often. His cloak of blue gray, the crane of his long white neck, and his wide golden eyes gave him the look of an old man huddled down against the cold chill of the waters and spray around him. He stood on one spindly leg in the swift current, and she marveled for a moment at how stalwart he looked. As graceful as her kind were, even a wolf looked silly crossing a stream when there were no rocks or logs to leap across on. This creature stood without a single wobble in the racing tides against him.
"Friend or foe?" The voice was old and grouchy, and the long yellow beak clacked together as he stretched out his neck.
"Friend," she answered as she sat demurely in the gravel and freshwater shells at the base of the river. "Your people are not easy to hunt. Only a foolish puppling would attempt such a thing."
"Hmmmm," he murmured and tilted his head towards her slightly while still eying the rush of the water below his height. "Practicality. That will keep meat on your bones long if you are to be a Lone Wolf, young one."
His astute observation cut her to the quick though she was sure it was none of his concern whether he hurt her or not. Birds are well aware of their intellect and will do anything they can to make it obvious if a wolf does not snap at their legs and tails fast enough.
"How do you know I am not of a pack?" she asked, tossing her pretty face and ruffling her mane slightly. Surely she didn't look ragged enough to be a Lone Wolf yet...
"Easy, my dear, no pack owns these lands. You would have to travel ten miles further to run into packlands, but those belong to roving dogs and coyotes. If you wish to become a part of a pack, you must travel North into the ranges that are almost forever snowy. If you don't wish to have a pack, you will have to go further than that to find suitable territory for one of your kind..."
"...one minute, sir...you said these lands don't belong to any pack, so what is stopping me from taking these woods for my own?" Feather interrupted, then allowed her ears to swivel back in slight apology when both yellow eyes met hers for the first time.
The slight submission of a wolf was accepted, and he went back to his fishing pose. "Yes, I did say that. No PACK owns these lands, but a WOLF does. His name is Logan Silentrun, and he has been here for some time. Long enough for coyotes to sing his name and foxes to yelp it from their dens. If you are to hunt even the smallest marmot here, I suggest you seek him out first."
The idea of seeking out a Lone Wolf for permission to hunt in such grand territory made her wrinkle her nose. Lone Wolves did not own territory. It was impossible to do so. There was no one to help them patrol it, no one to protect it against poachers or invaders, and no one to leave it to when the time came to return to the Creator.
Still, silly as his advice was, he'd been nice enough...for a grouchy old bird, and she thanked him for his words and wished him luck on his hunt. After all, she could give her now condemned mother one thing, she HAD raised her right.
Nights came and nights went. She hunted and hunted well. Small game only, but healthy game that helped to restore her body and spirit. The skies were free of the light of human settlements, so the blanket of the cosmos was there for her admiration every night. Finally, she found some measure of peace. As for this "Logan" character, she found scent markers from time to time. The bones of old kills...sometimes even elk!...with the marks of strong wolf fangs on them, but nothing truly fresh. Maybe he had moved on, maybe he had been driven out...either way, the days were hers to sleep through here, dusk was hers to explore, and the night was hers to revel in.
Two weeks had passed, and she had come to think the old Blue Heron a fool before she ran into the legendary Logan Silentrun. It was a morning cast in the amber hues of Autumn, and she was searching for a proper Winter den and hunting grounds when she began to notice the dead quiet of the trees around her. No chatter of squirrels, no tweeting of birds...just wind in the trees and the movement of mist if such a thing makes a sound. The quiet around her began to make her wonder how the land's previous owner had earned the name of "Silentrun"...
He said nothing. Perched atop some ancient boulders gnarled and braided together with the roots of great trees, his evergreen eyes said everything. He knew she was here, that she had BEEN here, and that this meeting was going to happen whether she liked it or not.
At first, all she could observe where the fiery green depths of his eyes. They met her with the confidence of a wolf in his prime and stared out from the startling contrast of dark gray and white and black markings of his face. His muzzle was grizzled but somehow neatly groomed, and his top coat was solid black. His mane was thick and healthy, a testament to his strength and, if he had been in a pack, possibly even his rank. Logan Silentrun was not as large as her former mate had been, but his legs were sturdy, his paws were large and strong, and his countenance was unbreakable.
"Wildpelt," he addressed her by naming her according to the russet and warm greys in her coat, "in the East, is it customary to enter someone else's land without so much as asking permission?" His voice was calm but hard, like the rushing of the river she'd seen the first day she'd come into his lands.
Taken aback as she was by his presence, she was still the fiery wolf who had left her pack on the grounds of morals and decency alone. She'd chosen the life of a Lone Wolf because she would not live on her knees in a pack that stood for something wrong. She was still that same wolf who had run her paws down to the blood that beat within them, and she was not going to bow before some hermit braggart now.
"My name is Feather, and, no, where I come from, you don't ask for a lone MONGREL'S permission to sleep and to hunt!" Her tail went up like a great flag behind her, and she snarled at him, ready for his challenge. To die standing would be better than to live begging.
His paws were indeed silent. He landed before her in a flurry of mist and moss. His fur smelled like river water, sunlight, and pine, and she found her snarl melting off of her face.
Now, his eyes sparkled with curiosity and humor though his mouth remained a straight black line of neutrality. "A mongrel? I have allowed you to hunt in my lands and to sleep under my stars for two weeks, and this is how you address me? And the Heron even practically told you all you'd have to do is find me and ask for my favor? Young one, you are either brave or stupid!" He chuckled at her as her fur bristled in response.
So he'd trailed her this whole time. Seen her this whole time. Now she was mad. She was tired of being a pawn in someone else's game. "I won't beg for the right to live! I won't tuck my tail to anyone, you understand me? Anyone! I fought for my freedom, I ran for it, and I'm not giving it up to you or to anyone! You may take my life, my breath, and you may crush it in your fangs, O Lonely King, but you will never take my freedom from me!"
He regarded her as she truly was for the first time since he'd seen her talking to the heron on the banks of his river. There, she had been heartbroken and alone. As she hunted, she had been beautiful and young. As she slept, she had been fragile and vulnerable, and he'd watched over her on the mountain crags above. But here was the real shewolf...strong but small, young but wise, and altogether wonderful. He would not turn away such a creature.
"Please calm yourself, Feather," he asked kindly, lowering his proud tail a bit. "I have no intention of taking your life or your freedom. You may have both as long as you are in my lands. I will ask you to hand over neither."
Her youthful brown eyes widened in disbelief, and she felt herself begin to blush as his wise and handsome face softened.
"All I ask is that when our paths cross, you try to smile at me instead of snarl. If we are both hungry, that you would hunt with me. And, if you would truly like to be generous and complete an act of charity, howl back to me when I howl to you."
She'd simply nodded to him, breathless and wordless. He'd passed her by without so much as a bump of the shoulder, and she did not see him for days.
However, one lonely night, she heard a howl in the depths of her sleep. This time, it was not the nightmareish call of her former mate, it was the thick and brazen voice of Logan Silentrun. Jolted out of sleep, she howled back to him earnestly before she was even reminded of her promise to him. She'd howled for the sheer joy of the song! Several quiet minutes passed before she heard the telltale whisper of reeds and leaves around her that herald the running feet of a fellow wolf. Though he was a mile away at least, her spirit longed to hear his approach that much.
When he finally stood before her, his great mane rising and falling with his chest, she smiled at him sheepishly. A half grin was returned. After that, neither spent a songless night.
A compilation of both cheap marker sketches and colored pencil sketches of Wielder's mother, Feather, and her father, Logan Silentrun. I blame all of this on my dear ;linkfootpad: who has gotten the hamster wheel in my head a'spinnin' concerning Wielder's feral storyline. As for these two, Feather was obviously betrayed by her former mate who took her beta female as his mate after an affair. Feather refused to stay within such a shitty pack and left her homelands and family far behind. Logan, well, we don't know too much about him other than his fucking awesome and a few years older than Feather. Feather is an Eastern Timber Wolf whereas Logan is a Gray Wolf.
Tadaaaaaaah! characters and story belong to me.
And thank the Silver One above for blessing her people at their creation for such an effortless gait that allowed them to sometimes run for moons at a time to evade danger. Though she knew no physical foes were tracking her movements, when she would finally collapse after endless miles of running, when sleep caught up to her, the dreams would begin...
...her mate's face turning away from her and to the beta female she'd grown up with and trained to be her direct subordinate. Almost like a sister but somehow closer. The two of them together at the head of the pack standing against her. An arrogant affair brought to light and worshiped by the rest of the pack including her own mother.
"He is a strong leader, Feather," her mother's fearful and nagging voice echoed in her head. In her sleep, her ears twisted back into the shape of fall leaves. "His Choice is Law. Accept it with grace. She has offered you the position of Captain of the Hunt..."
"Never! I won't gnaw on the scraps of that bitch's unwanted meal!" Feather heard her week-old words ring through a snarl. "Loyalty should come before pack politics, Mother." That word was a verbal sneer, and it would be the last time she would call the wretch before her such a thing. "My mate, my best friend, now my mother...all have cast me aside as some pariah for their own interests, and I refuse to carry my tail lower for any of you."
The dream always ended with the final brawl between her and the new Alpha Female. She gave the bitch a scar she would forever wear across her lovely face before she turned and leaped up the boulders that framed her would-have-been-den before uttering a final victory howl and racing towards the boundaries of the lands she would have forever called home.
She would awaken to the sound of her former mate's warcry. His female had been dishonored, she would be pursued as far as the packland's borders. After that, whoever caught her...coyotes, dogs, wolves, ravens...even vultures...could have her.
That was worse than a death knell in her ears. Once that part of the dream entered her thoughts, she would shakily stand to her white and auburn paws and run once more towards the coming Autumn. She loved Autumn. She was quiet and reserved by nature, and the colors of the leaves that fell matched her pelt and allowed her to move and rest unseen. She didn't know what her future held, if anything at all. She couldn't bring herself to think of a pack or what place she would have in it. The lonely feeling of never having one again was of more comfort really. Feather was a small Eastern Timber Wolf, and found it fairly easy to survive even at her hectic pace across the land on prey no larger than a foolish hare who had thought his zigzagging path clever enough to evade her.
Once the crunch of Fall leaves under her feet began to almost disappear into forest of evergreens and moss, she finally felt that the surroundings were different enough from what she was used to. Her sore but light feet hopped and tiptoed over ancient green roots and lichen covered boulders towards the sound of a river. The promise of fish racing upstream drew her in, and she was hopeful until she found that there was already claim laid to that part of the river.
She recognized his kind from her part of the land. A bird of a predatory nature but not like the hawk and owl she saw more often. His cloak of blue gray, the crane of his long white neck, and his wide golden eyes gave him the look of an old man huddled down against the cold chill of the waters and spray around him. He stood on one spindly leg in the swift current, and she marveled for a moment at how stalwart he looked. As graceful as her kind were, even a wolf looked silly crossing a stream when there were no rocks or logs to leap across on. This creature stood without a single wobble in the racing tides against him.
"Friend or foe?" The voice was old and grouchy, and the long yellow beak clacked together as he stretched out his neck.
"Friend," she answered as she sat demurely in the gravel and freshwater shells at the base of the river. "Your people are not easy to hunt. Only a foolish puppling would attempt such a thing."
"Hmmmm," he murmured and tilted his head towards her slightly while still eying the rush of the water below his height. "Practicality. That will keep meat on your bones long if you are to be a Lone Wolf, young one."
His astute observation cut her to the quick though she was sure it was none of his concern whether he hurt her or not. Birds are well aware of their intellect and will do anything they can to make it obvious if a wolf does not snap at their legs and tails fast enough.
"How do you know I am not of a pack?" she asked, tossing her pretty face and ruffling her mane slightly. Surely she didn't look ragged enough to be a Lone Wolf yet...
"Easy, my dear, no pack owns these lands. You would have to travel ten miles further to run into packlands, but those belong to roving dogs and coyotes. If you wish to become a part of a pack, you must travel North into the ranges that are almost forever snowy. If you don't wish to have a pack, you will have to go further than that to find suitable territory for one of your kind..."
"...one minute, sir...you said these lands don't belong to any pack, so what is stopping me from taking these woods for my own?" Feather interrupted, then allowed her ears to swivel back in slight apology when both yellow eyes met hers for the first time.
The slight submission of a wolf was accepted, and he went back to his fishing pose. "Yes, I did say that. No PACK owns these lands, but a WOLF does. His name is Logan Silentrun, and he has been here for some time. Long enough for coyotes to sing his name and foxes to yelp it from their dens. If you are to hunt even the smallest marmot here, I suggest you seek him out first."
The idea of seeking out a Lone Wolf for permission to hunt in such grand territory made her wrinkle her nose. Lone Wolves did not own territory. It was impossible to do so. There was no one to help them patrol it, no one to protect it against poachers or invaders, and no one to leave it to when the time came to return to the Creator.
Still, silly as his advice was, he'd been nice enough...for a grouchy old bird, and she thanked him for his words and wished him luck on his hunt. After all, she could give her now condemned mother one thing, she HAD raised her right.
Nights came and nights went. She hunted and hunted well. Small game only, but healthy game that helped to restore her body and spirit. The skies were free of the light of human settlements, so the blanket of the cosmos was there for her admiration every night. Finally, she found some measure of peace. As for this "Logan" character, she found scent markers from time to time. The bones of old kills...sometimes even elk!...with the marks of strong wolf fangs on them, but nothing truly fresh. Maybe he had moved on, maybe he had been driven out...either way, the days were hers to sleep through here, dusk was hers to explore, and the night was hers to revel in.
Two weeks had passed, and she had come to think the old Blue Heron a fool before she ran into the legendary Logan Silentrun. It was a morning cast in the amber hues of Autumn, and she was searching for a proper Winter den and hunting grounds when she began to notice the dead quiet of the trees around her. No chatter of squirrels, no tweeting of birds...just wind in the trees and the movement of mist if such a thing makes a sound. The quiet around her began to make her wonder how the land's previous owner had earned the name of "Silentrun"...
He said nothing. Perched atop some ancient boulders gnarled and braided together with the roots of great trees, his evergreen eyes said everything. He knew she was here, that she had BEEN here, and that this meeting was going to happen whether she liked it or not.
At first, all she could observe where the fiery green depths of his eyes. They met her with the confidence of a wolf in his prime and stared out from the startling contrast of dark gray and white and black markings of his face. His muzzle was grizzled but somehow neatly groomed, and his top coat was solid black. His mane was thick and healthy, a testament to his strength and, if he had been in a pack, possibly even his rank. Logan Silentrun was not as large as her former mate had been, but his legs were sturdy, his paws were large and strong, and his countenance was unbreakable.
"Wildpelt," he addressed her by naming her according to the russet and warm greys in her coat, "in the East, is it customary to enter someone else's land without so much as asking permission?" His voice was calm but hard, like the rushing of the river she'd seen the first day she'd come into his lands.
Taken aback as she was by his presence, she was still the fiery wolf who had left her pack on the grounds of morals and decency alone. She'd chosen the life of a Lone Wolf because she would not live on her knees in a pack that stood for something wrong. She was still that same wolf who had run her paws down to the blood that beat within them, and she was not going to bow before some hermit braggart now.
"My name is Feather, and, no, where I come from, you don't ask for a lone MONGREL'S permission to sleep and to hunt!" Her tail went up like a great flag behind her, and she snarled at him, ready for his challenge. To die standing would be better than to live begging.
His paws were indeed silent. He landed before her in a flurry of mist and moss. His fur smelled like river water, sunlight, and pine, and she found her snarl melting off of her face.
Now, his eyes sparkled with curiosity and humor though his mouth remained a straight black line of neutrality. "A mongrel? I have allowed you to hunt in my lands and to sleep under my stars for two weeks, and this is how you address me? And the Heron even practically told you all you'd have to do is find me and ask for my favor? Young one, you are either brave or stupid!" He chuckled at her as her fur bristled in response.
So he'd trailed her this whole time. Seen her this whole time. Now she was mad. She was tired of being a pawn in someone else's game. "I won't beg for the right to live! I won't tuck my tail to anyone, you understand me? Anyone! I fought for my freedom, I ran for it, and I'm not giving it up to you or to anyone! You may take my life, my breath, and you may crush it in your fangs, O Lonely King, but you will never take my freedom from me!"
He regarded her as she truly was for the first time since he'd seen her talking to the heron on the banks of his river. There, she had been heartbroken and alone. As she hunted, she had been beautiful and young. As she slept, she had been fragile and vulnerable, and he'd watched over her on the mountain crags above. But here was the real shewolf...strong but small, young but wise, and altogether wonderful. He would not turn away such a creature.
"Please calm yourself, Feather," he asked kindly, lowering his proud tail a bit. "I have no intention of taking your life or your freedom. You may have both as long as you are in my lands. I will ask you to hand over neither."
Her youthful brown eyes widened in disbelief, and she felt herself begin to blush as his wise and handsome face softened.
"All I ask is that when our paths cross, you try to smile at me instead of snarl. If we are both hungry, that you would hunt with me. And, if you would truly like to be generous and complete an act of charity, howl back to me when I howl to you."
She'd simply nodded to him, breathless and wordless. He'd passed her by without so much as a bump of the shoulder, and she did not see him for days.
However, one lonely night, she heard a howl in the depths of her sleep. This time, it was not the nightmareish call of her former mate, it was the thick and brazen voice of Logan Silentrun. Jolted out of sleep, she howled back to him earnestly before she was even reminded of her promise to him. She'd howled for the sheer joy of the song! Several quiet minutes passed before she heard the telltale whisper of reeds and leaves around her that herald the running feet of a fellow wolf. Though he was a mile away at least, her spirit longed to hear his approach that much.
When he finally stood before her, his great mane rising and falling with his chest, she smiled at him sheepishly. A half grin was returned. After that, neither spent a songless night.
A compilation of both cheap marker sketches and colored pencil sketches of Wielder's mother, Feather, and her father, Logan Silentrun. I blame all of this on my dear ;linkfootpad: who has gotten the hamster wheel in my head a'spinnin' concerning Wielder's feral storyline. As for these two, Feather was obviously betrayed by her former mate who took her beta female as his mate after an affair. Feather refused to stay within such a shitty pack and left her homelands and family far behind. Logan, well, we don't know too much about him other than his fucking awesome and a few years older than Feather. Feather is an Eastern Timber Wolf whereas Logan is a Gray Wolf.
Tadaaaaaaah! characters and story belong to me.
Category Artwork (Traditional) / Animal related (non-anthro)
Species Wolf
Size 1280 x 1258px
File Size 1.11 MB
Thanks, Chaser! Yeah, Feather is definitely of a smaller and more feminine build than her daughter is. Wielder's build is based more on her gray wolf heritage from her father's side of da family. I should do a sort of size chart and comparison picture of the three of them together, though I'm afraid Wielder's parents will probably never get to see her when she reaches adulthood. Oh well, it'd still be a good thing to do just for character design's sake.
Waitwhathuh? How in Hades did I get the impression that Wielder's mother is called 'Winter'? I must hastily scoot back and make a flurry of corrections in something I posted recently!
Anyway -- lovely pictures. And I am delighted to be responsible for kicking that hamster-wheel into motion?
Anyway -- lovely pictures. And I am delighted to be responsible for kicking that hamster-wheel into motion?
Wielder, once again, you demonstrate your skill not only in art, but in writing.
Story-wise, I'm quite impressed.
You managed to keep my disbelief in suspense through the introduction, when I probably should have been shouting, "Why would the rest of the pack approve of this?! This is still an affair! This makes no sense!"
Instead, all I could think was, "That insufferable bitch." You held my attention long enough for my emotions to kick in and shut out the logical parts of my brain. Now, I still kinda question why the affair would be 'worshiped' by the pack, but I don't mean that your story would make no sense without that emotional focus. You're the author, after all, and in spite of what my creative writing course says, I find that we really have no choice but to go along with it. It's not like we can change the story, eh?
Anyway (pardon the writer babble), I like the way you portrayed these two characters. It seems Wielder got her take-no-bullshit attitude from her mother's side, and more than a bit of her father's self-confidence, too. Something in my would like to see a second confrontation between Feather and the beta-turned-alphess, but I gather it's a bit of a suicide mission to return to her former pack's lands. At least she gave the harlot a scar she won't soon forget!
Art-wise, again, I'm quite impressed.
The variety of expressions you included really goes well with your story. (Especially Feather's in the top left. I really sympathize with her there.)
I think my favorite part is Logan in the top right. Something about his posture and expression there really just sells the character. Solid job, as always.
In any case, I'm quite glad you returned to Wielder's feral story line, and I hope to see more sometime.
Keep up the great work!
Story-wise, I'm quite impressed.
You managed to keep my disbelief in suspense through the introduction, when I probably should have been shouting, "Why would the rest of the pack approve of this?! This is still an affair! This makes no sense!"
Instead, all I could think was, "That insufferable bitch." You held my attention long enough for my emotions to kick in and shut out the logical parts of my brain. Now, I still kinda question why the affair would be 'worshiped' by the pack, but I don't mean that your story would make no sense without that emotional focus. You're the author, after all, and in spite of what my creative writing course says, I find that we really have no choice but to go along with it. It's not like we can change the story, eh?
Anyway (pardon the writer babble), I like the way you portrayed these two characters. It seems Wielder got her take-no-bullshit attitude from her mother's side, and more than a bit of her father's self-confidence, too. Something in my would like to see a second confrontation between Feather and the beta-turned-alphess, but I gather it's a bit of a suicide mission to return to her former pack's lands. At least she gave the harlot a scar she won't soon forget!
Art-wise, again, I'm quite impressed.
The variety of expressions you included really goes well with your story. (Especially Feather's in the top left. I really sympathize with her there.)
I think my favorite part is Logan in the top right. Something about his posture and expression there really just sells the character. Solid job, as always.
In any case, I'm quite glad you returned to Wielder's feral story line, and I hope to see more sometime.
Keep up the great work!
Comments