Where your hands don't heal
These are the reasons you're ruled
By the things you feel"
- Stomach It by Crywolf
That morning he had been woken up by droplets making their way through the forest canopy overhead. Thunder followed suit and soon enough the drops became heavier and fell faster. It had not been the wake he was looking for but it was better than nothing. With a soft huff, the male pushed himself up and began to head closer towards the heart of the River pack.
It seemed almost comical that the weather was matching his state of mind. Each day things seemed to get cloudier and cloudier. He felt like he was some sort of ghost floating about Hearthwood. He did his jobs each day before laying down for the evening. In all honesty, he didn't need more but that didn't mean he didn't want for more. There was a whole world out there that he had barely caught a glance of before settling down here. The two wolves he had originally met and grown comfortable with were now dead and gone. He still appreciated those around but after everything, it simply wasn't the same. The large second kept telling himself that was selfish thinking but maybe it wasn't.
This was going to hurt but he had to pull the bandage off or the wound would never breathe and heal properly. He stood on the outskirts of the communal den area drenched by the current storm and slowly tipped his head back asking for the pale leader, Lachesis.