Hastur

It was on the third year since the pack was established when the strange pup was born.
"Strange" was in no form negative - Hastur was always an adorable, creative child, and everyone liked him. He was just... different. Nobody could tell exactly what it was; The bizarre markings? The piercing eyes with thin slits for irises? The way his mind was always somewhere far away, and yet weirdly never missed a thing?
Yes, everyone liked Hastur. Never the leader, but always followed by a string of wolves listening to his fantastical, oddly mesmerizing visions woven out of boredom of a runt, who was never expected to achieve anything. Yet, with all eyes on him, none noticed when he grew more of his own. Nobody noticed his tail growing long and scaly. On one morning while stretching, he just unfurled a pair of wings, and his own mother only answered "Good morning", as if he always had them.
It only made sense. Like rain falling down, or the golden light of Carcosa glistening on the lake's surface. Hastur's stories brought bliss to any troubled mind. Whether it was putting his huntmates at ease or brushing doubts off of the leader's brow, everybody could count on "that loveable weirdo". Did it even matter that something was not alright about him?
At almost two years of age, he became something more - an ever-presence, an inviting calmness, a promise of something greater. The days may pass, the old may die, the celestial bodies spin in an neverending dance, and he will be here, the one certainty in this chaotic world. Not the leader, but an overseer. A guide to a paradise beyond the stars.
The Dreamer to end all dreaming.