Silas Grey

*Silas Grey - Backstory* They don't know where he came from, and Silas likes it that way. Born grey-furred in a litter of brown wolves out near the Ashwood Peaks, he was always the odd one — quiet, amber-eyed, watching more than howling. The pack called him a bad omen. At 14 winters he left, down to the low towns to find work that didn't need pack approval. He started as a ranch hand, then a trail guide, then a tracker. Folks noticed two things: he could smell a lie before it left your mouth, and he never missed a shot. Even when his hands were shaking from whiskey the night before. He got the red bandana off a preacher's kid he couldn't save in a dust storm outside Ghor R. Dios. He kept it. He got the duster off a bounty hunter who tried to collect on him for something he didn't do. He kept that too. The revolver on his hip? That's his own. Named it "Patience." Because Silas will lean on a post all day, arms crossed, that little smirk on his face, and wait. Outlaws get nervous. Nervous men make mistakes. Now he drifts. No pack. No town. Shows up when the sheriff won't, leaves before they can thank him. Some say he's wanted in three territories. Some say he's the only reason the rail still runs through Ghor R. Dios. If you ask him, he'll just adjust that small brass oval buckle, grin with those amber eyes, and say: _"I ain't a hero, kid. I'm just too stubborn to die anywhere else