At first, everything was fine, things were dandy... the water came back to the forests and the mountain side, Midnight Plateau (though it grew in number before dwindling) was kept alive, the seasons changed; and then they came along – lone wolves... It was as if life hit him with a stick. Hard. All throughout what was left of November, he had never come into contact with anyone other than Alexander and the leader of the Swift River pack. By December, just as he was starting to think Midnight Plateau was the only pack in existence, his list of acquaintances doubled. Never before then did his heart never skip a beat or curiosity cause his feet to stray. Nor did he ever think of himself as a paternal figure. Ever. It wasn’t long until he discovered he was walking out in the open. He had been so preoccupied with his questions and confusion that, upon first stumbling into Wildflower Glade, he froze.
Taking a few step backwards so he inched backwards into a lopsided tree - whose trunk was practically parallel to the ground – his jowls opened in surprise. He raised his nose to determine if anyone had passed through recently; and, after some time, he deemed the clearing to be safe. The lengthy amounts of dead grass covering the area was thoroughly coated with frost; wherever the grass had been picked away or uprooted, the ground dappled with snow and mud. He glanced over each of his shoulders before advancing into grass and settling down amongst the tan and brown blades.
He sighed, not knowing what else to think. Absolutely nothing had prepared him for this inner turmoil – he didn’t have to deal with this when he was still living in his birth pack and his aimless wandering for the past two years had given him nothing more than solitude – and he couldn’t help but to accept he was confused. Overwhelmed. Alexander was always busy day in and day out and he had yet to find someone he could confide in, to trust with his secrets and personal musings. His posture wilted forward into a slouch and he folded his ears back, closing his eyes in defeat. In the seclusion of the glade, he finally let down his guard, furtively succumbing to a myriad of troubles.