Swiftcurrent Creek On melancholy hill

When Wylla had lived in Keokuk with Lusca and Ingram, she had been brazen and confident. Nothing in the world could touch her. Their small family unit got along well enough; they struggled, but Lusca had kept them safe, and through solitude, Wylla had developed a deep mistrust for other wolves. When she became separated from her family, Wylla had to learn to hunt for herself, trust others or die. For the most part she had chosen the former, and when she needed to put her faith in other wolves, she did so distantly and without emotional attachment.

When she'd first arrived in the Teekon Wilds, she'd attempted to join severals packs in the manner of a thief—she'd had no intention of putting their needs above her own, and had only played nice on the borders in an effort to be accepted. Naturally, these endeavours hadn't gone well and only further tainted her opinion of pack wolves. Then she'd founded Grimnismal with her brothers and had never had to worry about that again. She herself had become an entitled pack wolf, surrounded by her family and their family, and turned away all manner of potential joiners on the sole grounds that she felt like it.

Now, she wasn't sure where she stood on the issue. In spite of attempting to raid their former territory, Durnehviir and Constantine had permitted the displaced waif to live among their ranks. Having had everything yanked out from under her by the heedless attitudes of a pair of geriatric ingrates and her own brother, the ego she'd carefully built up had shattered entirely, leaving Wylla unsure of herself and morose in comparison to her usual sarcastic fervor. She thought if Raptor came upon her now, she might not even fight back as she often did; she didn't have the spirit left in her for that.

She spent her days ghosting through Swiftcurrent Creek, chewing on her thoughts and generally avoiding her pack mates. They had allowed her to live here and so she couldn't believe that all pack wolves were the same—they challenged that belief—but she wasn't ready to accept this new life, so she sulked instead. That day was no different. Wylla went down to the river looking to be alone so she could practice her shoddy fishing technique some more, but when she reached her favourite spot, someone was already there. The mottled she-wolf fidgeted beside an aspen for a long moment, warring between her personal desire to be left alone and the wolf's desire for company, and eventually picked her way slowly toward Rysk with a mumbled, "that's my fishing spot."

From Wylla's whump list, which combines SWC's whumps with some of my own: "Begins to greatly doubt a belief or opinion she previously held." First 3 paragraphs are introspection.