Boartusk Heights the broken one

Even though he was a year and a half now, Charles didn't feel very adult. Maybe it was because he was relatively small, or maybe because it was because everybody was still telling him what to do all around him. Even this chick who didn't even know him seemed intent on telling him what to do. Well. Offering something for him to do, anyway.

The encounter with Bronco's mom was still fresh on his mind. Charles scoffed when she said that he wouldn't need to run if he knew how to fight. If only life was that easy. What could he have done differently? Beat her up? The thought seemed ridiculous. Even if he would learn how to, he'd still be small and scrawny and everyone would still hate him for looking like a coyote. That's what Draper said, wasn't it? That was the problem. That he was just some ugly trash scavenger. Learning anything wouldn't fix that.

For some time, Charles was silent after he'd scoffed, just staring into nothingness while he considered things and thought about his shitty-ass life. His hackles had smoothed again, though his tail still hung low just behind his hind legs.

Perhaps it was the fact that she did want him where everyone else turned him away for being shitty that piqued his interest. Charles was a little worried what they might do if they found out he was shit at taking care of himself and not very good at hunting at all.

Okay, he agreed eventually, almost a little defeated, as if instead of gaining something, he was giving something up. Or perhaps because the realisation settled in that he didn't have anywhere else to go, anyway. Some pack of wolves he didn't know seemed about as good as it would get right now.