Hushed Willows So Hungry

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"Hunger." That’s all that Tuft could think about. It has been about two and a half weeks since his last meal, and even then, it was a measly squirrel that he found dead and half eaten. 

His ribs can clearly be seen under his dark gray fur. The white fur on his stomach shifts as his stomach growls in pain. "This might be my last day here." He thought solemnly. Tears stream down his black-streaked white muzzle, remembering the night that he became the sole survivor of his pack. "At least I’ll be with my pack again."

Tuft had been on his own now for the past three months, wandering the Sunspire Mountains in hopes for food. Now looking for a place to rest, he picks the closest tree to him: a willow tree. A burst of scent, a marker signifying that this is another wolf pack’s territory, bombards his nose. Worry fills him for a brief moment, but he tells himself that he’ll probably be dead way before anyone could ever find him.

He circles around on a spot under the tree before plopping down on the hard crunchy snow. He starts to close his eyes, the mist surrounding the area turning into snow. 

Suddenly, Tuft hears a twig snap. He jumps up, the scruff on his neck raised.

He whispers in the open air, “H-Hello? Is there someone out there?”.

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