There exists an old legend.

A young man had finally become a merchant, traveling from town to town trading and quickly gaining profits by which he could build his life upon. Disaster struck when a callous country to the south invaded, shutting down most of the cities for their own economic advantage.

The young man traveled north and continued his work, heading between these cold northern towns, building profit still, but with these desperate and dark villages of the north it was a frozen yield, accumulating like the soft snow upon the trees during the dry portion of the winter.

His profits were also continually dashed by the wolves which would attack him. Destroying his cargo and heeding his passage. Slowly at first, he would encounter them on one road then another. As they began circling his wagon almost every night he realized they might be following him. He joined up with the few other merchants in the area to mutually protect their assets, traveling in a group.

It worked for a while, though the other merchants admitted they had never seen the wolves so aggressive around anyone else but him. It was fun though, he admitted, to be with others.

That lasted for about 2 weeks, before their caravan was completely destroyed by the largest pack he had ever heard of. They mangled every sheet, box, boot, and board. He ran when they arrived, hearing their howls, hiding under his over-turned cart. The wolves sniffed by the opening at the end... they knew he was there, but they did not act. Instead they dragged the carcasses of his companions off into the forest, a crimson trail behind them.

He continued trading, and while the bitter towns were weary of the deaths they had no choice but to contract through him since there were few others willing to travel the vast slopes and forests of the north. The wolves continued to attack, destroying his profits; week after week, month after month.

Then, it ceased. They continued to watch him, but they stopped attacking. He sat up at night, thinking only of the wolves as they howled in the distance, their paws dashing through the frozen woodlands around him, but they did not attack. He began making profit again, and the villagers started to trust him, but he found it difficult to talk with them, images of the wolf brushing by him as they ripped open his jacket stealing his possessions like so many trips before would flash through his head.

Even though his profits grew, his methods got worse and worse. He would build small fires, leave his cargo open and unprotected. He even began transporting meat-goods.

One particularly cold night as he was sitting by his small fire, the calmness in the air surprised him. The wolves were just watching off in the distance; he could see their eyes in the moon-light. He had grabbed his dagger this night, though he doubted he would need it, it had been so long since they had attacked.

A grey wolf, one he had cut a year ago, he remembered the slash, stood up and stepped forward, looking closer at him before turning around and walking away from his campsite. The other wolves followed suite and began trailing away from him and his cargo. As he watched them leave, he could not stop himself and stood up hastily. They didn't even notice as they all continued to turn away from him, walking off into the forest.

He stepped out of his campfire ring, entering the forest away from the trail and slowly followed behind the wolves. Some of the ones in the rear eyed him as he walked behind, but they did not stop. He entered a clearing, where he saw hundreds of wolves, probably most of the packs in this entire region, lazily walking around and eating their catches from the forest or the rivers.

And so, the young merchant entered the clearing, walking to the center of the pack and sitting down. He cast aside his dagger and lay back staring up at the moon. The wolves stopped ignoring him now; they began circling him, and gathering around him, their tails out in preparation of their meal.

And the young man began to breath harder, as tears began streaming down his face. The wolves closed in on him and soon the moon was blocked from his sight by the dark grey and black fur.

As they sunk their teeth into him, he smiled. He had come to love the wolves.