Silvertip Mountain Giving up, going in

Grayday let out a tired sigh, suddenly very weary. I can't lie to them about my eyes. Not when it's something that might directly affect them. There are pups, after all.  "Cataracts, sir. They don't bother me yet - just at night, when I'm trying to see small things. But my mother said they grow and change, given time. And that I might one day be blind. But as I've already told your brethren, I will gladly depart if it comes to that. I won't be a burden to anyone."

Though his legs were aching from long days of travel, he forced himself to remain on his feet. He had gone past being afraid of these wolves, and was now merely grateful to be in their company. This did not lessen the danger he was in - he was, after all, encroaching on their territory - but Grayday had come to realize something, over the course of the conversation: If this pack did not want him, he did not mind overmuch what they did with him.

It would be a relief, to die, he reflected, his tail swishing wistfully at the thought.

But he was still a wolf, and if there was an option other than dying, he was obliged to take it. But that was only one of the reason he listened carefully to the darker female, and only one of the reasons he gave his resolute nod. "I would surely abide," he solomenly intoned. If there were pups still living in the famine, he would do everything in his power to assure their survival.