June 23, 2016, 12:33 PM
Green had returned to the world, and yet Whittier felt just as starved and unhappy as ever. His continued interactions with his packmates served to prove to him that he was still abysmally low on the totem pole, and his position was not likely to improve unless he did something about it.
Which was why he had set out towards the ocean that day. He'd learned that food could be found on the shore in the form of crabs or other weird crusty beasts that looked more like the inventions of nightmares than fellow animals. He spent quite a while walking along the coast, searching, and found nothing. Just like every single time he ever attempted to find food, though every once in a while he would be rewarded with at least a scrap of something or other. But not that day. That day, the world mocked him just as fiercely as it had for what seemed like months now.
Whittier waded into the tide in growing aggravation, thinking perhaps this would serve him better. The sand was comfortable and inviting beneath his paws as he sank into it. He thought he remembered being that sometimes the little beasts could be found further in since the tide was always shifting the perception of where the shore began and ended. His memory was skewed, as was his mind in general from the weakness the famine had left him with. It seemed right though. Or maybe he needed to go further...
The water was up to his stomach by the time he felt the shelf of the shoreline drop quite suddenly out from beneath him. Whittier splashed into the sea with a surprised bark. He splashed and paddled for a few seconds to pull himself back to the surface, but he was too slow for the undertow to snatch him and pull him away.
Some of the wolves of Saltwinter would see it as the Mother Sea claiming the worthless life of a foolish man, and they perhaps would even rejoice in the pack's sacrifice of a member to her embrace. But as the air in his lungs was replaced saltwater, Whittier Frostfur hoped at least his brother would mourn for him. Or at least he would have if not for the sheer terror of dying that was the last feeling ever to grip him.
Which was why he had set out towards the ocean that day. He'd learned that food could be found on the shore in the form of crabs or other weird crusty beasts that looked more like the inventions of nightmares than fellow animals. He spent quite a while walking along the coast, searching, and found nothing. Just like every single time he ever attempted to find food, though every once in a while he would be rewarded with at least a scrap of something or other. But not that day. That day, the world mocked him just as fiercely as it had for what seemed like months now.
Whittier waded into the tide in growing aggravation, thinking perhaps this would serve him better. The sand was comfortable and inviting beneath his paws as he sank into it. He thought he remembered being that sometimes the little beasts could be found further in since the tide was always shifting the perception of where the shore began and ended. His memory was skewed, as was his mind in general from the weakness the famine had left him with. It seemed right though. Or maybe he needed to go further...
The water was up to his stomach by the time he felt the shelf of the shoreline drop quite suddenly out from beneath him. Whittier splashed into the sea with a surprised bark. He splashed and paddled for a few seconds to pull himself back to the surface, but he was too slow for the undertow to snatch him and pull him away.
Some of the wolves of Saltwinter would see it as the Mother Sea claiming the worthless life of a foolish man, and they perhaps would even rejoice in the pack's sacrifice of a member to her embrace. But as the air in his lungs was replaced saltwater, Whittier Frostfur hoped at least his brother would mourn for him. Or at least he would have if not for the sheer terror of dying that was the last feeling ever to grip him.