Arrow Lake Death is only the end if you assume the story is about you

A tiny, split-second growl burst from Dragomir as he faced off against the dark clouds. It didn't matter. Another drop hit him square between the eyes, eliciting a yip as he spun around in search of his unseen assailant. His tail stilled, quivering slightly with tension, as he strained his young ears forward. Plink went another drop, causing him to flick the targeted ear in irritation. He was so focused on this battle with the rain that he was completely blind to Stigmata until the man was practically on top of him, at which point Dragomir stopped trying to fight the clouds and whipped around to stare at the grizzled leader of the pack.

Dragomir had no notion that this man was a figure of authority who required the utmost respect. He was just a young pup still new to the entire concept of a pack; until recently, his world had consisted of about five or six wolves at most. Stigmata was wholly unfamiliar, however, and the skyward fling of a tail hearkened to Drago's ancestral instincts. He sank back against the earth, allowing his tail to wiggle appeasingly as he craned his head up and attempted to lick the man's chin as though begging for food.

It was impossible, of course. He was tiny and Stigmata was huge. He lapped at the air instead. This went on for a few seconds before his concentration on the General was broken by a particularly large raindrop hitting his outstretched tongue, earning a reflexive snap of his jaws and another shrill yawp at the sky as he turned to face it.