Whitefish River find me in the moonlight

Grayday padded a few steps closer when his presence was acknowledged, but still stood several yards from the other when he sat down to join her vigil. "I used to," he said, remembering a puphood spent with his head craned back, his father's stories echoing in his ears. "I don't see much more than the moon, though, these days. My eyesight is going, and there's always less and less to see."

It was a mark of how far he'd come that he spoke the words without bitterness. His fading vision was, at present, the least of his problems, and besides - he could still see the moon.

"I'm Grayday," he added, offering his name when she offered hers. A hearty sense of approval shot through him. Here was a wolf who'd been properly named. Moonstone. It was clear and tangible. It meant something. Grayday would never know what to think of wolves who named their kids things like Heartha and Khoe.