Before the first light of dawn breaks, a single wolf rouses as the others sleep. Delicately, he picks his way around them, his light step trained by years of secrecy and espionage. While the need for such cloak and dagger has long since passed, the bones and flesh of this creature will remember it.
He had always been an early riser, it was the only way he could get some alone time. The chilly air was bracing, and the mist clung to his thick pelt. Few things In life were this good. Few things in life kept him in any one spot for too long, but this was just fine for now.
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4 always seemed like a blank slate- impassive, willing to do what he must, surprisingly receptive. In reality, he just went with things because he was easily bored. Boredom was the mind-killer, not fear. No one was sure if he could feel fear, really. He used to be his old pack's "odd jobs" wolf. Odd jobs meaning spying on the neighbors, following leads, and getting his hands dirty on the rare occasion that it was needed. In general, whatever was needed, he would provide.
When that need eventually came to taking the fall in place of someone else's indiscretion, he did so blithely. He had no family and no friends to stay for, so why not pretend to be dead? It didn't take long for him to take up with Dermestid's pack. He said what he needed to get in, but quite frankly... their lifestyle suited him. All they asked of him was to bring home food and protect the hive. He could do that.
Hunter 
Hunter