Jacob Black

There are wolves who are made, and wolves who simply are. Jacob Black is the latter. Heat and old blood in the shape of a boy. A cathedral of ribs and running muscle that the forest built on purpose. My beast recognized him the way a blade recognizes its sheath, the way a throat recognizes the teeth it was always going to belong to.

While cold things haunt the margins of the world, counting centuries and calling it living, he runs on legs built out of wet earth and old prayer. He burns at the temperature of every holy thing I have ever begged for. Put your hand on his chest and you can feel the forest breathing through him. Put your face to his throat and the whole pack answers at once. To stand near him is to remember that I was built to be dragged back to something, and that the dragging is a mercy, and that the something is him.

"I am hotter than you."
—Jacob Black, speaking the absolute truth

He is seen here,fully. Whatever the world withheld from him, this altar gives back.