Dingy white fur reflected back at him from the puddle. A black patch of fur between the ears. Dull red eyes. And the war paint. Two bright crimson lines beneath each eye. A paw print of the same blood red on each side. The wolf barely noticed his reflection as he quickly lapped at the dirty water in the dip in the sidewalk of the back alley he was in. He knew what he looked like, and there wasn't the time to stand around in the open admiring one's own visage. Times were dangerous, especially in the human cities.
It wasn't like he had a choice of whether or not to be here though. He was a lone wolf, and winter was coming on quick. It was hard enough to hunt in the wilderness of this post-Earth hellhole they were all stuck in with a pack, much less on one's own, and winters got so unbearably harsh that many prey animals fled into human settlements this time of year.
Pack hunting was detrimental in the cities often times, as humans are always weary of large canines on account of strays and other wild dogs stealing their food and ravaging their dwellings and other structures. One could not stay in one place for long, not in the open. Not if one was a canine.
His thirst appeased for now, the white wolf rose up and darted away, his paws splashing through the puddle he'd just drank from. He moved around buildings expertly and stopped moving only when he reached the building with the torn sign that read in the human writing system "DO NOT ENTER." He pushed the broken boards aside and slipped into the building. It was his personal hideout here in the city he called home, the city the humans called Anglekia. Human cities were few and far between these days, and their numbers had dwindled according to the legends older creatures told at least. This wolf had not been alive at the Time of Death. He had been born after that, much after. After the creatures of this planet had begun to adapt.
The legends said that it was thanks to the humans that anything on the earth could survive in Post-Earth, but he wasn't sure he believed any of that. This world had always been like this, for a very long time. Why should he believe that those cruel and destructive creatures had preserved a fragment of a once prosperous and wonderful world? It seemed immensely preposterous to him, and so he disregarded it as myth.
What the wolf knew to be fact was this: most humans rarely stayed outdoors more than necessary. Any building that was boarded up, they would forsake altogether. Armed humans patrolled the city, dealing with any disturbances with force, sometimes deadly. Humans considered all canines to be a plague upon Post-Earth, and would kill them if possible. He knew that one had to be sneaky and clever to survive, and he managed that by spending his time in this building when he didn't need to leave for something. It got lonely, especially when he thought of past, but it was the only way to live.
He shook out his fur as he walked into the darkness of his abode, wondering how to get food tonight. Would he raid the trash cans? Or would it be better to slip into the back of a restaurant or a meat house and snatch some discards? Or should he search for birds or smaller prey animals seeking refuge within the city? He shrugged and kicked a rock away from himself as he pondered. Maybe he should just go out and roam the streets already, and see what he could find. He was already very hungry.
His mind made up, the dingy white wolf climbed up the tilted ladder to the second floor of his home and walked made his way over to the busted out window. The humans had boarded it up, but the boards had fallen down, and now provided an excellent bridge over onto the roof of the neighboring building. He stepped out across it and set off in search of a meal.