Sleeping Dragon there should be stars for great wars like ours

In such a state, he'd not the capacity to worry over which wolves he'd wake with his wailing and which ones would sleep right through it. He knew only of the discomfort that he was experiencing, and how it made him feel as if his entire world was coming to an abrupt end. The warm liquid he'd savoured—quite literally—since birth no longer helped him, nor provided the comfort that it'd seemed to of promised him once upon a time. There was only the ache that existed, as well as his eagerness for it to stop. Yet, relief was not so quick to come. He'd been moved away from the wiggling masses of warmth, the place from which he'd often nursed, and placed into the unknown. If fear was something that he'd been able to feel at such a young age, then it most definitely would have been seeping straight out from his core. Luckily, though, such was just one of the many emotions that he couldn't comprehend, and so he'd settled for crying in response to his ailment only.

When a tongue had made its way across his face, the feeling was welcomed, but not rewarded. It was a gesture that he'd take comfort in at any other time, perhaps even fall asleep to, but not on that day. Rather than silencing him, it'd only made the boy cry even louder. Yet another thing that he favoured had failed him, and so what else was he to do but cry his little heart out?