Cerulean Cape All that sound

The pipers, sensing the rain, moved away from the shore to huddle among the grasses further away. The white wolf was left alone with his thoughts. The rain was warm, though a breeze from the sea cut into his skin every so often and forced a shiver. It wasn't long before his fur was wet most of the way through, yet he still didn't move.
Taikon's short time with a pack had reminded him all of the good that could come from relationships with others. He could no longer convince himself that he was a loner by nature. He wanted to curse Aphrodite and Juniper for opening his heart. How could people he had known for so little time have broken his sense of identity? He was long tired of feeling sorry for himself, but this was different. His lack of direction was now existential. Everyone had left him. Perhaps he should have stayed and attempted to regroup with others from the pack. It didn't feel like he had a place with them.
His ear shifted, flinging tiny drops of rain as a sultry voice seemed to come from nowhere. The prince lifted his head and found himself looking at a creamy she-wolf, her coat quite like his. The two might have been siblings had her eyes been less fierce and captivating. Both, I suppose, he said. Gone seemed his guarded attitude toward what had happened. The one positive to Whitebark happening the way it did was that he had a wound he didn't feel the need to hide. My pack has moved on due to our river overflowing. The lands are flooded, he said, rising. It seemed to take him great effort to do so, as though he were five years older than he was.
Taikon turned his body to her and shook himself, spattering water everywhere. The rain, of course, would undo that effort shortly. He didn't expect her to say anything, but watched to see how she would respond anyway.