Whitebark Stream Don't drag me along to your slaughterhouse.

Daylily was wandering the woods lost in thought when the golden wolf appeared—though she did not notice him. She was thinking very hard about something and had come to an impasse. She didn’t often show it, but she wasn’t the most confident wolf around, and she just kept thinking: what if her skills weren’t good enough for this pack? Oakstead had been a massive pack, with at least thirty adult members, let alone pups. Wolves came from miles around just to join, for they had heard good tales about the green forest always full of food and good company. Because of this, there were many skills that Daylily had not had to learn, like hunting big game or fending off intruders. Others who were more inclined towards those jobs had learned such things; she had been left alone to pursue more gentle arts: learning more about her religion, about the magical aspects of nature. But these things were not practical. Not really useful. 

“Oh, what am I to do?” she asked herself, unaware that she was being watched by the male who had come baring the gift of a squirrel to eat. She supposed it wasn't too late to learn new skills, but would she be good at them? She abhorred violence, so the idea of having to fight off intruders made her skin crawl. Would she be stuck as dead weight here forever?