Wulf the Eternal Warrior

Some, it is said in the legends of Aesgard, shall die, and then come to the feasting board of Valhalla- to sit by the side of Wotan, chief of the gods! There, they shall fight again each day amongst Wulf in Egypt It was the faint sound of a wooden spear shaft scraping against a shield that awoke Wulf. It was pre-dawn, and there was a chill in the early morning air. All about him was the camp of his sleeping tribe, but no one else stirred from their rude huts. Even the dogs of the tribe were undisturbed, sleeping outside on the earth. Throwing aside his sleeping furs, the paleo tribesman called Wulf emerged from his own hut, silently as a cat. He did not consciously try to move in quiet- it was just his nature, as it was in his nature to fight and hunt. He quickly ran lightly across the clearing which surrounded the communal campfire ring, and peered off across the rolling fields and hills about the camp. Far they had traveled, always looking to find a new place to settle. Wandering nomads is what they were, and what their ancestors had always been, for eons. The life suited them; these paleolithic peoples never desired to change from their ancestral ways of hunting and gathering- their life was good, and their great god was that of Nature herself. But more and more, civilization had begun to attack them without reason, driving them off from wherever they had settle