Whistful

It was early afternoon, and the Warlord was taking a break from his daily routines. His paws led him up the path to First Light Point, one of his favourite spots in the pack. He felt the hike up in the muscles of his ankles in a way that was new to him. His body wasn’t getting any younger, a fact he was forced to face each day.

As he reached the highest point of the mountain watch, he let his gaze drift to the horizon. It was a beautiful day, with barely a cloud in sight. All the same, he couldn’t help the way his thoughts drifted to Zee, to Keahi, to Bird , and so many more in such a painful, long list of wolves he had loved and lost in his too-long life. Logic dictated that he should be in his last year, or years of his life. Still he trucked on, when so many others were lost.