He was a ghost. A shadow of a wolf separated from the rest of the pack, hidden in the very heart of Wesen territory, near the peak of the Black Mountains. His cave was dug from the mountainside surrounded amongst dense tree trunks in a copse and ringed by blunted grey stones. The mouth was small and barely visible, just big enough for a wolf of Asher's size to squeeze through; any other creature would have to struggle to get in.
Not that they'd find the cave in the first place. Sibyl picked this spot well. Through spring to autumn, long grasses that could tickle your knees danced in the breeze with a generous population of wildflowers that hid Asher's scent with their own sweet fragrance. In the winter, Asher's nearly all-white coat got dusted with snow and hid him from all but the eagle-eyed. And come rain or shine, through drought or flood, there were guardian wolves not too far away. Thankfully out of sight most of the time to afford him the illusion of privacy, but Asher knew that a single bark from him and they'd come running, ready to throw their lives away in his defense.
Sibyl was sweet like that.
He was her First. The only wolf she ever trusted with her Secret and the only wolf she protected with everything she had to offer. Rest of the pack be damned, Asher received the finest cuts of meat, the silkiest of bird feathers, the shiniest of stones.
All he had to do to keep Sibyl's favour was keep his mouth shut and watch over any pups the other wolves have.
They were really his only companion.
Asher's guards were fiercely devoted, true, but they only came when he called, and they never stayed if he wasn't in danger. The only guard he ever saw more than once was Mallus; a hulking brute of a wolf that towered over Asher's form. Everyone else came and went. Whenever Asher called for them, new guards were immediately given the following day. Sibyl never told him where all his old guards went. Asher never asked.
It's lonely, keeping Sibyl's secret. Maddening, even.
A wolf as ruthless as She, reincarnating into the bodies of her children whenever she dies. Taking over their bodies, devouring their souls, existing for years and years and years. Sibyl had been Sibyl for decades. Centuries. She didn't even remember the names of the children whose lives she snuffed out to continue her reincarnation.
Maddening.
Maddening.
But Asher keeps his word and Asher pays his debts. He will keep silent, and he will raise the wolves the pack weren't allowed to raise themselves. Not all of them will make it; Asher cannot protect all of them by himself. Sibyl's design, no doubt. Only the strong make it out. Asher never sees those pups again once they've grown; they get taken down the mountain to join the rest of the pack with nothing to remember him by. Not even his name. They'd only know him as the wolf with the snow-white fur who refused to give his name. Sibyl's instructions. A threat on the slim chance one of the wolves would turn on them. Asher needed to be kept safe.
So he keeps his mouth shut.
It's funny, in a way.
Asher was the First. For a time, it was only he and Sibyl. They had built this pack from the ground up. Sibyl fighting fang and claw to kill any intruders, carving a bloody path in the Black Mountains. Asher digging their caves until sunrise, hunting squirrels and fowl and other small game to keep their bellies full. Then Sibyl told him, then she hid him away, then Asher was all alone. The pack had grown now, but Asher knew without a shred of doubt that none of them knew the "treasure" Sibyl was protecting near the very peak of the mountain.
A ghost.
Pupsitter 
Pupsitter