Brekkin SoftpawSniper, Tracker, and Fluffy CuddlerSheetBackground:
Brekkin was the runt of the proverbial (or perhaps literal) litter, gaining the name softpaw because even among his brethren he was light on his feet and small. In the aftermath of the war, his tribe was massacred. He, being so small, was left to fend for himself, which he did. In time he learned, by watching from the trees, how to whittle a bow and fletch arrows. When survival was on the line, there was instilled in him the most basic desire of all, for life. He learned how to hunt small game, how to land the difficult shot, and over time his mind, with no need for such minor concerns as language, became as honed as his arrows. It learned to focus on the kill and how better to shoot.
The wild boy could not live forever in the wilds, as with the ending of the war and peace covering the land, actual hunters would come for the game he relied on to survive. Some part of him even considered hunting these men for use as food, but a rational portion of him somewhere in the back of his mind knew that it would be wrong to kill a thinking being such as these. He approached them, weapon drawn in warning, but could not ask them to leave. Being of a mind not to kill them, they had no such qualms regarding him. Thinking him a beast, a lycanthrope or some such with a bow trained on them, the hunters shot him without second thought, only to discover their mistake too late.
When he awoke he was in town, recuperating. Having no family, he was intended to be sent to the orphanage, but no one there could handle him. It was then that the commander of the canine unit brought some of his troops in, this being where the skinwalkers generally served. They spoke to him in the language of the woods, the grunts and yips of his wolven kin, and all other manner of speech which was not speech. In time, they got him to understand a bit of spoken speech, and from then on it was easy enough to train him. His aptitude with a bow earned him a spot guarding the walls at first, though eventually they found his nose more adept at tracking and his bow more skilled a shot than most of the humans on the force. They called him 'bloodhound', and when in his human form he passed for almost Elven. Despite all this, he does not do well among other humans finding them odd. It's uncertain to him why they keep calling him odd words, his grasp on the language still coming into its own. They call him the word "cute" a lot, he thinks it alludes to his size. The women especially enjoy touching him, why do they touch him? It is a mystery, at least to him.