Stavanger Bay think to myself 'really, what's the use?'; i'm just like you, i was born to lose

There was a brief moment in which Smokestep had instilled a fragile glimmer of hope in the sable wolf, having accepted Raptor's errors and the truth of his history. Then the sea took Sandpiper, and somewhere in parts unknown was a wolf carrying his pups; pups he was likely never to see.

Despondence settled in like an anchor in his gut. If it were not for that perhaps he would have taken some action. But the days continued to bleed into one another and Raptor had made himself more a recluse than he had been before. He no longer lived. He existed. He ate little and did even less. He was not but the ghost of a gull circling the bay, in desperate want of purpose. So it was that he meandered the shore, head down and eyes cast to the sand in front of his paws. For once there was not a thought in his head, nor a feeling in his breast.