In a dirty, melting snow drift was a black wolf with a single patch of white on his chest, and faint silver ticking lining his lips. From a distance it was hard to tell if he was dead or if he just was sleeping. Clinging to the coolness of the snowbank in the light of the afternoon sun. Or if he'd just given up there, and it was his final resting place. A closer look it still wasn't easy to discern. His dark coat was dull, and ribs were evident. A hollowness to his flanks that had never been. It was at a wolf length someone might catch the slow rising and falling of his chest wondering how long it might last.

He didn't remember passing out. Though in his condition it wasn't like he remembered a whole lot of being awake. A wolf needed more than snow and old picked bones. He had felt lucky he even had that. He'd been stuck for so long. It was the one thing he could not shake from his conscious.

What was that? In the darkness something pushed at him. Strange. For all the times he'd been "out" he'd never felt anything like it. All he could think was he wished it would all just stop.

It did not. It was soon accompanied by a sound.  One he had heard some time in his life. His own kind.  Was it a plea?

Slowly eyes pried open, instantly blinded by the brightness. Fear sped his heart, unsure what was going on. He was afraid now to face it. He'd never imagine what death would be. Did they actually come knocking? Ready to take you to the next life? Eventually the outline of a wolf formed before him. He kept blinking, willing the image to sharpen. It did to a point, but he really wanted to just close his eyes. Tired from the small effort.

A faint grown leaked from his chest, as he squinted. "Huh," he croaked. Unable to say more. His dry tongue, a useless appendage. Not much different from the rest of him. Slowly his mind started to flicker. He could now remember he'd been trying to go somewhere. Needed to get back. He had yet to know where or why.

He focused on the rising and falling of his chest. Could he get up? He wanted to. He needed to. 
“I’ll try, “croaked dryly from his throat. He was sure he’d been through worse. If anyone could help him it was probably this guy. Why the Tainn's condition was mostly starvation and dehydration with a familiar ache in his shoulder he came to believe was an old wound, there was a touch of a cold. His memories were quite foggy.

Inhaling through his mouth he raised his neck, and slowly began stretching his limbs. The world was coming into focus. He could feel each one of his toes and his sore bones. He shoved against his front paws, slowly pushing himself up while digging against the slushy snow with a wince. A brief spell of darkness came across his vision but as he forced himself to hold still  his eyes eventually focused on the tawny wolf. Noticing his collection of scars, though he saw nothing distinctively. Blinking steadily he held himself up, trying to let the fog of his mind dissipate. After a couple of long moments he raised his hind end. Suddenly he realized how wet and cold the side he’d been laying on was. But he did not fall. He swayed, and his body shuddered. It was more mentally than physically.

Standing in the sunshine felt nice. He felt like it meant something, but he did not know what. Maybe if he just stood a bit he could try to move.

His brows furrowed together. His mind was finally catching up with his nose and he caught the scent of meat tainted with coyotes. Was that what he’d been doing? Getting to the deer carcass? He assumed he must have. But he could also pick up hints from the healers. His home and pack mates. None of it jogged his memory.