Silvertip Mountain My Wounds Run Deeper Than My Veins

The gray wolf lay there in his old den. Nothing much about it had changed. Sure, might have been in need of some very few changes, but he was too tired for that. Too injured. Too heavy with worry and depressing thoughts. 

His eyes drifted off to the sky. Chaska waited there, wanting the stars to come out sooner. But it was the afternoon. They weren't coming out for some time. All he could do was wait. With a huff, he averted his eyes from the sky to the landscape around him.