Wheeling Gull Isle you were a comet... and i lost it...

He felt like he could cry, tears bubbling silently up his throat as if all the emotions he'd been suppressing had decided this moment was perfect to shed them as raindrops released by downpours. Hviske gulped them down, his body shaking still.

One, ma'am, the spring that came before the past winter gave life to the wolf before them seeking some semblance of belonging. I have not had the courage to approach a pack in seek of membership before. I do not know how. It was too late to turn back, he had to stick this out, and he kept reminding himself of the facts of the situation. Hoping that would at least calm him down and keep him from thinking the situation unfair; fair it was and he knew it so. Childish thinking wasn't appropriate. My age is no excuse for my behavior, nor is my lack of knowledge, ma'am and sir. My parents did not live to see my teachings to completion, though it is no excuse, either. None exist.

Somewhere in between youth and adulthood, where he could only watch helpless as his world shrank and twisted, threw him about as an excited pup may shake a squirrel in play.

But why did he feel smaller than the pup sandwiched between his parents? Why did his heart ache so for such similar treatment? Longing for the warmth of parental love taken from him? It grew too quiet for him, too ripe for thoughts to creep into his ears and whisper things he didn't want, wouldn't help. So close, and yet he felt like the wolves of Sweetharbor were on the other side of the ocean and he was left trying to dodge a merciless tide. 

The yearling's tail found its way to his paws, tucking them under it tightly as if trying to mimic their protective embrace around their son. He pretended his grey tail was his mother's black one. She'd surely be upset with him for making others upset.

But it was painfully obvious neither of them wished to see his face any longer, heeded by the man's words that cut deeper than a bear ever could.