Yuma Aldura

I’m a tall, broad-built wolf with a solid, heavy frame that’s impossible to miss. My fur is mostly dark—charcoal and black—thick and dense, with lighter gray and white markings breaking up the darkness. A white stripe runs down the center of my face, starting at my forehead and continuing along my muzzle, a feature that tends to stand out right away. My eyes are a clear, bright blue, sharp but steady, and usually giving away more than I intend. My body carries real weight. My shoulders and arms are thick with muscle, and my torso is wide, tapering into a rounded belly that gives my shape a grounded, substantial feel. I’m not built for speed or elegance; my presence is defined by mass and stability. My tail is full and heavy, dark like the rest of my fur, ending in a white tip that moves slowly when I walk. I usually dress simply—dark shirts and pants that fit close enough to show my size without being restrictive. The fabric pulls across my chest and stomach, settling naturally rather than hiding anything. My hands are large, claws visible but kept relaxed, more practical than threatening. I live a fairly ordinary life, blending into quiet neighborhoods and familiar routines. I’m not the type to draw attention intentionally, but my size and appearance tend to do that on their own. I move through the world at my own pace, steady and deliberate, more comfortable being present than being noticed. Overall, I’m someone defined less by sharp edges and more by consistency—solid, grounded, and unmistakably there