Young, idealistic, and nothing special to look at, Vittorio nonetheless has a certain indefinable charisma. Perhaps it's his incorrigible cheerfulness, or his apparent capacity to find good in anyone. There are, however, a few things about him that may strike the casual observer as strange.
The most obvious of these is his right foreleg, which is horribly twisted and useless. Walking on three legs doesn't seem to bother him -- indeed, he hardly seems to notice -- but it's hard not to stare at the stubby, misshapen limb.
How did a wolf so young come by such an injury? Why did he venture into these dusty plains alone? And why does he never speak about the pack in which he was born?
If you're looking for answers, he won't provide them. But he will likely deflect with a joke, a game of chase, or a lovely round of singing, and if you join your voice with his and sing to the heavens, you might decide that knowing the answer just isn't worth the trouble of finding out.
