If you were dead or still alive I don't care. The black wolf was up to his elbows in freezing, cold water. The sensation was wickedly pleasant. The driving pulse of the creek coursing along his legs, pushing his thick fur against his bone. It didn't take long for a dull, heavy ache to strike his limbs. It proved to him he was alive, he could still feel. How intent he was numbing himself from head to toe, water or not. No one would know the real meaning he was in the creek. No. The ice had melted, and he could try to catch fish, or a hint of a those tasty, fuzzy beavers who hated for him to get too close. Even, Ice wouldn't be able to see any brooding on the man's face. Triell had a grin with a hint of madness shaping his muzzle. He knew too, because he was staring at his reflection. The strange face that looked tired, and eyes starting to dull. The Tainn didn't recognize the wolf staring back at him, the wolf who was no longer a child; the wolf who didn't see much of a future in his cards.

Triangle ears whipped back to his head, and he revealed his long white teeth to himself just to change his face. The man shook his thick neck out. No brooding, no sulking. The Tainn worked his way closer to the Beaver Dam, making zig-zagging across the creek without meaning. The question lingered. What now Triell? He was doing one hell of a job avoiding everyone, and he could feel himself coming to a cross road. Something had to change. He didn't want to live like this, it wasn't living it was waiting to die.

What else could go to shit around here?