Frostfire Ridge Lands that call my name

Gunnar, was a kind wolf in most manners, but he had been born a fighter. He had learned to battle at the knees of his father, and even now though his was pawsore and weary, were he to have to chance a battle even with the young, he could give his own. 

Were he to have privy to the others thoughts, he would have laughed. For he had often thought of himself as a david against a goliath, a son of Ragnar, a beast.

"Perhaps my soul isn't old, but my body is. I have wintered and wandered for most of my life. I am no longer blessed with the body of a youth."

The smaller wolf studied him with their sea eyes, it made Gunnar think of the pool she had splashed in as a pup. The pools where his mother had taught him to fish, where his father had taught him to fight. Always the sea, deep and fathomless.

"Are you a healer? My mother was a healer, she helped many when their bodies were to frail to hold their soul."