The Sentinels Days when we'd fight, we'd fight til I would give in

You will find something someday, Oni told himself as he strode along the grassy fringe of the coast. His shoulders dipped with defeat and his steps were a sway, his whole self painted in tones of hopelessness and despair. His hopeful self-talk was only an effort to keep his chin up. He'd been rejected from exactly seventeen packs since leaving home, and that sort of thing began to weigh down on a young, shy fellow like him. While he reasoned that eventually he would find a pack that wasn't just looking for strapping, powerful lads to hunt and guard caches during the winter months, it was hard to maintain a realistic outlook when he felt as useless as a lump of turd.

The next pack scent he came across made his belly lurch dismally. Here's number eighteen, he thought hopelessly as he pulled up to the borders, or at least as close as he dared get. The pack resided in a forest that seemed like it was constructed for giants. Oni momentarily forgot himself as he followed the line of a towering sequoia far up into the sky. His jaws parted in brief wonder, and there was a half-hearted shake to his tail as he thought about what it would be like to live in such a place.

But then he remembered himself. Oni swallowed thickly, then threw his head back to howl for attention.