Lost Creek Hollow And we were the same, just the same, you and I

Sandy moved through the pack lands. Athletic prowess sinuous through the trees. He had caught weasels and small prey. They hung like macabre decorations around his neck. Their red blood dripping into his black and russet fur. Staining his paws a deeper red than they already were. 

He would provide for this pack until he couldn't anymore and it did wonders to quiet the cacophony of things that riddled throughout his mind. Because much like Crowfeather, though with less reluctance. Sandy didn't know what he wanted or if he could even want. And he def didn't know if he was worthy of any affection of anyone. But that was neither here nor there and it was not a good time.

So he continued on his way. Primitive and feral in his hunting.