Vilhelm

Derived from the Old Norse Vilhjalmr. Compound of Vil, meaning will, or wish, and hjalmr, meaning helmet, or protection.

"I am not your plaything to fight with, Sigurd!" Vilhelm snapped at Sigurd's muzzle. The younger wolf yelped, stumbling backwards into Primordial's legs. Vilhelm looked up to see the older wolf glaring at him. Sigurd fixed himself, holding his tail up high now. He was more cocky now that his big protector was here. Vilhelm snarled, pearly white teeth glaring. Primordial huffed. He began, "You are pathetic, Sigurd. Fight him!" Sigurd's eyes widened. Vilhelm could tell from the scared face of the young pup that he didn't want to battle. This was only a training session; why must we have to fight? "Fight me!" Vilhelm barked. A sudden flash of dark gold fur landed on the younger wolf, knocking him to the ground with strong steady paws holding him down by the shoulders. Sigurd yelped, "OOWOO!" He howled. Vilhelm's ears raised and he stepped off of Sigurd, realizing his claws had sunken into his fur and into his flesh. Little sparkles of crimson welled out of his shoulders. Vilhelm grumbled then sat down. His tail was neatly tucked over his white golden speckled paws. Now he was definitely going to get yelled at. Primordial snarled angrily. He was disappointed in his apprentice. Primordial then stood, flicking his tail behind him as he stalked off. A few pawsteps go by, and Selene came running with the young Calypso, the future herbalist, behind her. Calypso was holding a bundle of herbs and feathers, while Selene held the rest. She turned to Vilhelm, a motherly look of distinguish, "No more rough stuff! Go to your den, Vilhelm." Vilhelm rolled his eyes. OF COURSE! Blame it all on me, right? The younger pups always get the good treatment. Vilhelm stood on his haunches and stalked off towards the encampment, his eyes blank with anger.