Or just with a polar wolf color theme. Or at least a bleached out timber wolf.
Anyway,
RotCG pdf version (for easy searching and copypasting goodness) page 90 - in the canals below Heng:
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side. There, the flow of excrement dribbled from a sculpture twice Hurl's height that of a closed
snouted dog's maw. As Hurl's vision adjusted she could make out more detail: long pointed ears,
slanted canine eyes. An entire carved hound's head, down here! In the dark! What could be the
reason for that?
But the nose was too long, the head too narrow. All of a sudden she recognized it a jackal.
Ryllandaras. The White Jackal of Winter. Quon's Curse. The man-jackal First Hero who rampaged
for centuries across these central plains rendering them all but impassable but for the intercession of
the tribes who worshipped him the Old Seti.
page 278 - from Rell's duel with the beast:
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Hurl looked up to meet the lambent; flame-red eyes of the beast watching her. The eyes tracked the
munition in her hand. A leg moved as it stepped toward her - Gods, what a stride! An aim stretched out,
talons closing - what reach!
page 279:
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He knew this man-beast Ryllandaras could coveground faster even than a horse.
page 323:
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Ullen caught fleeting glimpses of a huge grey shape, astonishingly fast.
page 414:
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Ahead, between her and the roaring; bonfire shooting its sparks into the night sky an elemental vision
confronted her: men, arms outstretched, shuffling side to side, closing in on a monster rearing some
three times their height, slashing, bellowing.
(...)
So fascinated was Hurl that she'd forgotten the battle. Six men now closed upon the beast. Roaring his
outrage, Ryllandaras swept his long muscled arms to throw them aside. But none fell. His blows slid
from firm broad shields, met sharp iron. Rearing once again, he hammered Temp down with a swipe of
one long arm. He bent down to snatch the stunned man in his maw, larger than a horse's head, but
Braven Tooth was there to cover Temp. He wielded a great two-handed blade with which he deflected
raking swings from Ryllandaras. Incredibly, Temp stood once more, shook the shattered ruins of the
shield from his arm, drawing a second weapon. The Seti warrior, Sweetgrass, charged in next, slicing
savagely, bellowing his own challenge. He leapt in against Ryllandaras's leading leg a hamstring! But
the monster kicked him away; Hurl could almost hear the ribs breaking from where she stood.
page 415:
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Rearing back to his full massive height the monster opened its black-lipped jaws and loosed an
infuriated eruption of frustrated blood-lust that stunned Hurl where' she stood. It leapt upon Sweetgrass,
hammering him to the ground, but Temp was there to bull him back like a man holding up a falling
tower. A slash from Ryllandaras's black talons raked the mail and banded armour from the man's front
and he fell to his knees. Rell lunged in, jabbing, thrusting, and the man-jackal yielded a step howling
hope this helps!
It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.